o^BLUB 


CaptG.P.  C4R4RT 


LIBRARY 

UNIV    RSITYOr 
C    I  li-ORNIA 

SAN'  DiBSO 


A  Blue  Devil  of  France 


C3r7 


Persevering 
Energet  ic 
Triumphant 
Ardent 
Intrepid 

Nil melior! 


A  BLUE  DEVIL  0/ FRANCE 

Epic  figures  and  stories  of  the  Great  War, 
igi4-igi8 


BY 

CAPTAIN  G.  P.  CAPART 

Late  of  General  Petain's  Staff 


Translated  from  tbhe  Original  French 

BY 

J.  C.  DROUILLARD 


New  York 
W   J.  Watt  &  Company 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  191 8,  by 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 


PBE8B  OF 

BRAUNWORTH    &   CO. 

BOOK    MANUfACTURERS 

BROOKtrN,  N.   Y. 


TO 

M.  PAUL  BIZET 

M.    DESIRE    MARBAIS 
MY   FRIENDS 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

THIS  volume  contains  an  ensemble  of  true  episodes 
about  the  French  poilu  taken  from  my  diary. 
The  reader  will  regret,  perhaps,  the  absence 
of  continuity  in  the  following  chapters ;  that  will  rapidly 
disappear,  however,  when  he  sees  the  characteristic 
figures  he  should  better  know  and  love  for  a  long  time 
to  come.  A  scruple  has  always  guided  me:  to  write  the 
truth.  I  have  been  strict  in  writing  nothing  but  what  I 
have  seen  or  heard. 

In  giving  these  souvenirs  to  the  American  public,  I 
have  had  but  one  object:  to  mold  in  relief  the  warlike 
virtues  of  the  admirable  soldiers  of  France  with  whom 
I  have  fought  for  more  than  three  years. 

Mothers,  wives,  sweethearts  and  children  of  the 
heroes  fallen  in  defense  of  their  country,  will  find  in 
these  pages  a  precious  consolation:  they  will  see  that 
with  just  reason  they  can  be  proud  of  their  cherished 
dead. 

I  ask  indulgence,  much  indulgence  of  the  public.  I 
have  written  these  lines  simply  and  faithfully  during  a 
long  and  painful  convalescence;  many  times  I  have  felt 
that  my  physical  forces  would  abandon  me  before  I 
could  arrive  at  the  end  of  my  task.  I  shall  be  fully 
recompensed  for  these  efforts  if  I  know  I  have  brought 


yiii  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

to  my  readers  the  emotion  and  feeling,  which  I  still 
experience,  of  those  epic  hours. 

Cap.  G.  p.  Cap  art. 
The  Lawrence  Hospital 
Bronxville,  New  York 
June  2,  1918 


TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION 

TO  have  known  the   author   intimately  is   a   rare 
privilege  which  has  materially  aided  me  in  re- 
taining, if  I  have  been  successful  in  so  doing, 
the  spirit  and  atmosphere  of  the  original  pages  of  "A 
Blue  Devil  of  France." 

In  every  sense  of  the  word  I  am  a  literalist.  Bar- 
ring a  very  few  instances  I  have  been  particularly  rigid 
in  my  efforts  to  render  a  literal  translation.  Where 
it  has  been  impossible  to  do  this,  the  reader  will  find 
the  original  French  to  enhance  the  charm  and  sim- 
plicity of  the  stories. 

Simultaneously  this  striking  story  of  the  great  war 
is  published  in  Paris  under  the  title  of  Comme  lis 
Vivent  et  Comme  lis  Meurent  (How  They  Live  and 
Die). 

Redundant  with  vitality  the  several  stories  show  a 
beautiful  insight  into  the  character  of  the  French  poilii, 
who,  fighting  for  more  than  four  years,  remains  un- 
broken in  morale.  Unpremeditatedly  heroic,  killing 
their  adversaries  clean,  ever  chivalrous,  witty,  smiling 
in  the  face  of  death  and  obscurity,  these  soldiers  of 
France  will  go  down  in  history  as  martyrs  to  a  definite 
understanding  between  peoples. 

Sordid  as  war  may  be,  here  is   the  glorious  side. 


X  TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION 

Le  Feu,  by  Henri  Barbusse,  the  critics  write,  is  pes- 
simistic and  deals  with  the  dark  side  of  this  momentous 
conflict.  If  that  be  true  "A  Blue  Devil  of  France," 
with  winning  ingenuity,  tells  us  in  a  simple,  straight- 
forward manner  that  there  is  another,  nobler,  majestic 
view  of  modern  battle.  It  personifies  the  spirit  of 
right,  forever  unquenchable,  the  champion  over  mate- 
rial forces  seeking  to  destroy. 

Students  of  every  free  country  will  find  in  this  book 
numerous  examples  of  the  spirit  of  sacrifice  of  those 
who,  for  four  years,  have  written  history  with  their 
blood;  they  will  see  that  the  most  beautiful  existence 
for  a  man  is  to  know  well  how  to  live  and  die  for  his 
country ! 

Americans  may  here  visualize  the  Argonne,  Verdun, 
Saint  Mihiel,  the  Champagne,  consecrated  spots,  where 
their  own  blood  is  now  being  hypothecated  to  succeed- 
ing generations.  They  may  see  the  type  of  the  French 
poilu,  with  whom  our  boys  are  fighting  arm  in  arm, 
as  they  go  plunging  on  to  certain  victory. 

J.   C.   DSOUILLAKD. 

August  5,  1918. 
New  York  City. 


A  Blue  Devil  of  France 


This  chapter  comprises  several  distinct  periods  in 
the  life  of  the  author. 

Captain  Capart  left  Switzerland,  August  2,  191Jp, 
to  cidist  in  the  Belgian  Army* 

He  took  part  in  the  siege  of  Antwerp  up  to  its  fall 
(October  10,  lOlJj.),  then  as  corporal  in  the  dark  days 
of  the  retreat. 

From  the  month  of  December,  1914-,  he  became  at- 
tached to  the  French  Army.  He  was  commissioned 
sub -lieutenant,  January,  1915. 

The  greater  part  of  the  stories  in  this  chapter  oc- 
curred during  the  period  between  March  7,  1915  and 
July  of  the  same  year,  during  which  time  he  fought 
in  the  sector  held  by  the  Marine  Fusiliers  and  that  of 
the  Zouaves  in  the  region  of  Nieuport. 


*The  Author  was  born  in  Brussels,  in  1881,  of  Belgian  parents. 
The  two  great-grandparents  of  Captain  Capart  were  soldiers  in  the 
armies  of  Napoleon  I. — ^Tr. 


CHAPTER  ONE 
NIEUPORT 


A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


CHAPTER  ONE 

A  SMALL  CITY  IN  SWITZERLAND, 

August  2,  1914. 

WAR  is  declared! 
I  feel  I  must  leave  all,  family,  home,  position. 
I  clasp  my  wife  and  three  little  ones  in  my 
arms.  .  .  .  The  iron  gate  closes  behind  me  and  I  al- 
most break  into  tears — the  happiest  moments  of  my 

life  are  ended  and  I  go  toward  the  UNKNOWN 

One  must  heed  Destiny! 

MY  ENLISTMENT,  ANTWERP. 

August  6,  1914. 

Already  I  curse  war.  I  have  journeyed  seventy-two 
hours  on  the  railroad  to  enlist  as  a  soldier. 

The  recruiting  officer  in  charge  said  to  me  when  I 
faced  him. 

"Ha!  another.  This  is  a  double  invasion,  the  Ger- 
man invasion  and  that  of  the  volunteers !" 

3 


4  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

THE  OLD  MAN  AND   THE   GOAT,  ANTWERP. 

August,   14,   1914. 

All  morning  there  is  an  uninterrupted  cortege  of 
civilians  fleeing  from  the  onrushing  hordes.  They  have 
taken  with  them  everything  capable  of  being  carried  in 
their  hands.  The  pathetic  sight  makes  one  feel  the 
precipitateness  of  the  flight,  the  despair,  the  panic! 

A  bent  old  man  arrives  presently ;  he  walks  slowly, 
fixedly  regarding  the  ground.  He  is  leading  a  little 
white  goat,  which,  every  ten  paces  or  so,  butts  the 
old  man  with  its  horns,  as  if  urging  him  to  go  faster. 
The  latter  does  not  falter — he  walks  straight  ahead. 

One  doesn't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  weep, 


THE  SOLDIER  WHO  BAYONETS  HIS 
FIRST    BOCHE,    BELGIUM, 

September,  1914. 

A  young  soldier  was  seated  alongside  the  road.  He 
belonged  to  a  Regiment  of  the  Division  quartered  in 
the  neighboring  villages.  He  had  a  sad  and  dejected 
air. 

I  seated  myself  at  his  side  because  I  wanted  to  know 
the  impression  of  the  men  who  had  already  been  in 
battle. 

"Have  you  been  under  fire?"  I  queried. 

"Yes,  corporal." 

"How  many  Germans  have  you  killed.''" 


NIEUPORT  6 

I  saw  a  haze  of  anger  pass  over  the  eyes  of  this 
young  chap  who  regarded  me  with  a  fixed  look. 

"Just  one!  I  hate  the  Germans,  I  swear  it,  but  I 
tremble  to  think  what  I  have  done — yes,  I  killed  him 
dead  enough ! 

^'Voila!  I  am  a  gardener  by  trade.  I  live  in  the 
Luxembourg.  The  garden  of  my  masters — it  is  all 
my  life.  Why  has  this  accursed  war  broken  out  ?  Can 
they  no  longer  stay  at  home,  the  pigs? 

"Then  I  was  called  and  you  know  the  rest,  because 
I  will  not  speak  of  the  first  days  of  the  campaign. 

"But,  voila!  one  night  we  made  an  ambuscade  on 
a  farm  in  the  outskirts  of  Vilvorde.  It  was  dark.  They 
told  us  the  Germans  would  possibly  attempt  a  recon- 
naissance in  the  village  and  it  was  necessary  to  open 
their  eyes. 

"We  were  placed  in  a  house  closer  to  the  enemy  lines 
than  the  others  and  it  was  forbidden  to  enter  the  street. 
Some  of  my  comrades  were  hidden  above  on  the  second 
floor,  but  I  was  hiding  back  of  the  front  stairs-  and 
observed  the  entrance-way. 

"My  nerves  were  overexcited  by  this  long  wait.  A 
single  ray  of  the  moon  wandered  over  the  ground  above 
the  gate;  it  recalled  one  of  my  ambushes  for  flower 
poachers. 

"Night  advanced  and  finally  I  believed  they  would 
never  come.  Suddenly  a  well-sustained  fire  broke  out 
a  short  distance  away.  I  had  fixed  my  bayonet  and 
now  grasped  my  rifle  tightly. 

"The  gate  opened  brusquely.  The  night  was  clear 
and  I  saw  a  big  devil  of  a  German  officer,  revolver  in 


6  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

hand,  pass  through  and  enter  the  walk.  He  desired 
without  doubt  to  seek  shelter,  for  he  slammed  the  gate 
after  him. 

"This  is  what  passed  then  in  a  flash.  I  left  my 
hiding  place — he  saw  me.  In  his  eyes  there  was  the 
look  of  distress  one  always  sees  in  those  of  a  trapped 
beast.  He  shot  at  me,  but  so  quickly  that  he  did  not 
aim.     The  report  awoke  the  whole  house. 

"Already  I  had  jumped  at  him — and  I  literally  nailed 
him  to  the  gate. 

"Ah !  To  feel  the  crushing  of  bones — when  one  is 
accustomed  to  cultivate  flowers — to  feel  the  crushing  of 
bones !" 


BRITISH    STOLIDITY,    BKLGIUM, 

October  9,  1914. 

War?  At  the  beginning  no  one  knew  then  Avhat  it 
was.  The  enemy  bombarded  us  with  shells  of  an 
enormous  caliber,  which  excited,  more  than  anything 
else,  our  curiosity. 

Two  "Tommies"  started  to  swim  across  the  river 
Nethe  to  where  the  enemy  had  but  recently  been  thrown 
back.  They  repeated  to  everyone  who  asked  them 
where  they  were  going: 

"We  want  to  see  the  BIG  cannon,  yes  the  BIG 
cannon !" 


NIEUPORT  7 

THE    PRISONERS    OF 
GENERAL    DE    MAUd'hUY,    NEAR    ARRAS. 

January,  1915. 

Upon  leaving  table  one  day  with  General  de 
Maud'huy,  we  came  upon  a  group  of  German  prisoners, 
who  immediately  looked  at  us,  saluting  respectfully. 

"These  are  'my  prisoners,' "  the  general  told  me, 
"they  work  in  the  cantonment. 

"I  had  at  the  beginning  about  a  dozen  boches  and 
mustered  them  every  night  because  we  were  only  ten 
miles  from  the  line  of  fire." 

"Several  escajjed?"  I  asked. 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  replied.  "The  second  night 
we  counted  eleven,  the  third,  fifteen.  Now  there  are 
fifty.     We  never  knew  where  they  came  from ! 

"I  have  enough  boches.  I  mustered  them  all  yester- 
day and  told  them  that  if  their  number  kept  on  in- 
creasing I  would  send  them  all  back.  You  will  agree 
that  it  is  impossible  to  keep  a  strict  count  under  these 
conditions !" 


THE   ADMIRAL,  NIEUPORT. 

March  7,  1915. 

I  saw  Admiral  Ronarc'h  for  the  first  time  to-day. 

All  morning  the  city  of  Nieuport  was  bombarded 
with  shells  of  a  very  large  caliber,  crushing  and  en- 
veloping the  poor  little  Flemish  homes  in  great  clouds 
of  brick-dust  and  smoke.    The  ground  trembled.    Our 


8  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

Marine  Fusiliers*  must  have  paid  them  back  in  full, 
for  they  returned  a  heavy  fire  from  the  large  guns  of 
the  fortress. 

I  arrived  at  Nieuport-Baths  along  the  river  Yser 
with  Captain  Ricard,  who  said  to  me: 

"With  all  that  racket,  to-day,  we  are  sure  to  find 
the  Admiral  and  Commandant  Delage " 

At  the  moment  we  reached  the  locks  we  were  well 
serenaded — the  shells  literally  rained  around  us.  At 
regular  intervals  the  larger  ones  burst  in  the  city.  Ab- 
ject ruins — I  no  longer  recognized  this  once  lively  little 
city  which  I  visited  during  my  childhood,  dead  and 
deserted  to-day ! 

Finally  we  came,  about  four  o'clock,  to  the  admiral's 
shelter,  where  we  found  him,  with  Commandant  Delage 
and  the  chaplain. 

I  was  received  with  smiles  and  hearty  handshakes; 
on  similar  days  one  is  always  sure  to  be  received  by 
the  admiral  in  a  most  charming  manner. 

"Lucky  chap,"  he  said,  "well  have  you  chosen  the 
day  of  your  first  visit  to  Nieuport.  What  a  bombard- 
ment, hey!  fortunately  all  goes  well,  practically  no 
losses — that  right,  Delage?" 

Commandant  Delage  smiled  all  over. 

"Yes,  admiral." 

At  that  moment  a  shell  burst  so  close  that  pictures 
were  torn  from  the  walls  and  a  chair  was  turned  up- 

*  French  sailors.  They  wear  a  white  hat  shaped  like  those  of  our  own 
sailors  and  a  long  flowing  coat.  On  the  hat  is  a  large  red  tassel.  In 
France  this  has  given  rise  to  the  expression,  "  Les  petites  demoiselles  aux 
pompons  rouges,"  or  the  Little  Ladies  of  the  red  tassels. — Tr. 


NIEUPORT  9 

side  down.  A  cloud  of  dust  spouted  through  the  ven- 
tilating shaft — at  the  same  time  we  heard  a  rumbling 
of  falling  walls,  the  clattering  of  splintered  glass  and 
broken  tiling  falling  on  the  ground. 

We  had,  for  our  protection,  an  arch  made  of  half- 
thicknesses  of  bricks.  If  we  must  be  struck,  then  we 
should  have,  at  least,  the  opportunity  of  not  suffering 
very  long! 

Each  told  his  story,  tales  of  the  sea  and  of  the 
war — then — that  was  not  all,  there  was  a  programme 
of  work  to  accomplish,  and  we  at  once  set  about  the 
task. 

Toward  nightfall,  I  left  the  shelter  or  cave,  which 
I  shall  never  forget.  The  shell  which  shook  us  fell  in 
the  courtj'ard  of  a  house,  scooping  out  a  funnel-shaped 
crater  thirty  feet  in  diameter.  A  Marine  discovered 
the  base  of  the  projectile:  a  420!* 

A  comrade  who  helped  him  carry  it  said : 
"They  are  foolish  if  they  think  they  can  kill  our 
admiral  with  a  420,  and  also  be  sure  that  St.  Anne 
of  Brittany  will  curse  their  German  God!" 


Author's  Note. — I  took  the  base  of  this  shell  the  same  evening  to 
General  Hely  d'Oissel,  who  commanded  the  Division.  Until  this  moment 
he  was  still  undecided  as  to  the  caliber  of  shell  the  enemy  had  been 
using  since  early  that  morning. 


10  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

A  TELEGRAM  FROM  ATTILA,   NIEUPORT-BATHS, 

March,  1915. 

Returning  from  the  Great  Dune  after  several  days, 
Captain  Perroud  and  myself  stop  before  the  old 
Nieuport-Baths'  station.  It  is  in  a  pretty  state.  We 
enter  the  ruins  and  have  penetrated  as  far  as  the  office 
of  the  Passenger  Agent,  all  in  a  tumult,  papers  scat- 
tered everywhere 

Sealed  telegrams  are  seen  on  the  floor,  and,  it  is 
strange,  they  have  not  excited  the  curiosity  of  the 
plunderers,  for  these  latter  would  have  found  some 
fastidious  reading.  I  confess,  what  concerned  me  was 
the  desire  to  open  some  of  them  to  see  what  persons 
could  have  said  at  the  moment  of  evacuating  Nieuport- 
Baths. 

The  first  was  addressed  to  an  English  woman,  "Mrs. 
Smith,  Regina  Hotel,  Nieuport-Baths."  It  said: 
"Things  are  beginning  to  get  worse  where  you  are. 
Nevertheless,  do  whatever  you  think  best.     Smith." 

I  opened  the  second  telegram: 

"Mademoiselle  Y ,  Regina  Hotel,  Nieuport- 
Baths."  It  was  dated  Ostend,  October,  1914,  and 
read:  "Here  there  is  absolute  safety.  Come  at  once. 
Many  kisses !    Attila." 

Among  all  this  tragedy  and  desolation  here,  above 
all,  was  the  final  comedy.  I  folded  the  telegram  and 
placed  it  in  my  pocket. 

Some  weeks  later  I  was  dining  in  Paris  at  the  home 
of  Madame  L — ^- — ,  wife  of  a  professor  in  the  Con- 


Target  practice  at  Sardine  Cans,  before  St.  Georges. 


NIEUPORT  11 

servatoire;  I  had  as  my  dinner  partner  the  great  ar- 
tiste, Suzanne  Despres. 

After  having  told  a  thousand  details  of  our  life  in 
the  trenches,  some  frightful  enough,  others  sad,  the 
moment  had  arrived  to  inject  a  note  of  gaiety  into 
the  sombre  tableau  which  I  had  sketched  for  them — 
I  drew  forth  Attila's  telegram. 

A  cry  escaped  my  partner.     "Mile.  Y ,  she  was 

one  of  my  company  in  the  Theatre  de  rffiuvre !" 

"And  Attila.?" 

"He  is  the  Director  of  the  Theatre  des  Galeries  St. 
Hubert,  in  Brussels  and  well  known  in  Paris !" 

Attila's  telegram  has  been  safely  delivered  to  Mile. 
Y ,  who,  this  time,  will  not  complain  of  the  remiss- 
ness of  the  telegraph  company,  but  perhaps,  of  her 
own  indiscretion. 


TARGET  PRACTICE  AT  SARDINE  CANS,  BEFORE  ST.  GEORGES. 

March,  1915. 

The  Marines  have  found  a  way  to  divert  German 
rifle  fire  from  our  loopholes  in  the  trenches. 

They  have  tied  a  number  of  empty  sardine  cans 
on  the  ends  of  sticks  and  fixed  the  latter  firmly  in  the 
parapet,  at  which  the  boches  shoot  continually. 

Since  then  "Fritz"  spends  his  spare  time  in  trying 
to  knock  them  down;  our  losses  have  perceptibly 
diminished. 


12  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


MASKED  BALL,  NIEUPORT-BATHS. 

March,  1915. 

Less  than  a  mile  from  the  enemy 

Rifle  balls  whistle  to-night  through  the  streets 
of tener  than  usual ;  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  nerv- 
ousness in  the  sector. 

But  these  wandering  bullets  will  not  thwart  the 
soiree  we  have  planned  with  some  officers  of  the  First 
Zouaves :  a  masked  ball  in  the  Casino ! 

We  found  plenty  of  odd  and  strange  bits  of  apparel 
among  the  ruined  villas ;  and  our  masked  ball  took  on 
an  odd  appearance  with  the  extraordinary  costumes. 
The  toubib*  clipped  his  flowing  mustaches  and  wore 
a  lady's  gown — he  was  good  to  look  at !  Young  and 
fair,  as  he  is,  one  had  to  regard  him  closely  not  to 
be  deceived.  Major  Peigne  was  naturally  taken  for  a 
"chicken"  and  there  was  much  rivalry  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, I  swear  it! 

Degove  with  his  old  straw  hat  and  battered  vahse 
was  a  scream,  while  Ricard,  in  his  uniform  of  a  Belgian 
officer  of  the  First  Empire,  was  absolutely  funny • 

The  strident  singing  of  bullets  kept  on 

We  had  a  great  time  that  night! 

*  Surgeon. — Tr. 


NIEUPORT  13 

THE   BEAUTIFUL   PARISIAN   PRINCESS. 
THE    GREAT    DUNE, 

March,  1915. 

We  are  going  to  install  an  electrical  machine  on 
the  right  bank  of  the  river  Yser.  My  men  are  bringing 
the  heavy  box  in  which  it  was  transported.  With  its 
timbers  protruding  from  each  end,  which  makes  the 
carrying  less  difficult,  the  gray  covering  looks  more 
like  a  sedan  chair. 

And  I  think  of  a  pretty  princess  taking  her  daily 
promenade  along  the  edge  of  the  water,  which  is  un- 
usually beautiful 

The  weather,  alas,  is  very  bad,  and  the  men  are 
tired.  The  first  rays  of  the  spring  sun  have  not  come 
to  warm  the  earth.  In  fact  my  poilus  have  more 
the  air  of  carrying  a  funeral  urn. 

"Hey,"  I  shouted,  addressing  them,  "what  would  you 
say  if  you  had  a  beautiful  Parisian  Princess  in  that 
box?" 

**What  would  I  say,"  returned  an  old  corporal,  "what 
would  I  say?  I  would  say  nothing,  but  I  would  put 
her  in  my  bunk  to  warm  my  feet,  and  you  fellows  could 
battle  among  yourselves !" 

LA  CORVEE,  THE  GREAT  DUNE. 

April,  1915. 

The  rumble  of  the  surf  and  the  noise  of  the  big 
guns  do  not  sound  well  together. 


14  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

This  trench  is  bad  to-night — the  shifting  sand  ob- 
structs my  progress. 

It  is  the  time  when  the  tide  ceases  to  rise  and  the 
Territorials  begin  their  work. 

The  trench  is  empty.  No,  there  is  someone  sitting 
on  the  sand.  At  his  side  is  a  frame  shelter  made  of 
ammunition  boxes.  He  is  alone.  I  imagined  the  boy 
had  lost  his  way. 

"Where  have  you  been.'"' 

"I  dunno." 

"Where  are  you  going.'"' 

"Over  there." 

"Who  are  you  with.'"' 

"With  the  others." 

Not  another  word. 

"Who  are  you.''" 

"I'm  the  whole  damned  army  !"* 


A  STRAYED   LETTER,   THE   GREAT  DUNE, 

April,  1915. 

I  came  accidentally  in  the  trench,  among  a  lot  of 
leaves,  upon  a  letter  from  a  girl.  It  was  almost  covered 
by  the  sand. 

"It  is  very  lonesome,  here,  without  you,"  it  ran,  "I 
think  of  you  night  and  day,  on  the  farm,  in  the  fields, 
always.  How  wonderful  it  would  be  to  clasp  you  in 
my  arms,  very,  very  tightly.     I  hope  a  baby  will  come. 

*  Je  suis  la  corvee. — Tr. 


NIEUPORT  15 

If  it  is  a  boy  we  will  make  him  a  strong  poilu  like 
yourself — if  it  is  a  girl  we  will  call  her  VICTORY — 
and  you  see  how  beautiful  the  little  one — our  little  one 
— will  be.  I  will  work  a  bit  harder  to  bring  her  up 
well » 


A  PERPLEXED   CHAPLAIN,  THE  GREAT  DUNE. 

April,  1915. 

A  group  of  Zouaves  have  thrown  themselves  upon 
the  sand.  They  are  discussing  animatedly  German 
atrocities  and  cruelties  in  the  invaded  region. 

The  soldier-chaplain,  seated  by  their  side,  says  noth- 
ing, but  contents  himself  with  gazing  steadily  into  the 
sand  at  their  feet. 

"Those  cutthroats  over  there  have  done  everything: 
they  have  violated  women,  young  girls " 

"And  the  priests?" 

"No,  you  idiot,  why  bring  them  into  it " 


" — they  have  burned  villages,  massacred,  killed  old 
men,  pillaged,  robbed " 

"We  will  repay  them — an  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth." 

"Yes.  When  we  get  into  their  country,  we  will 
organize  bands.  We  will  have  violaters,  pillagers — in- 
cendiaries  " 

"In  what  category  do  you  want  to  be,  Father.?" 


16  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


A   COEPSK    BETWEEN    THE    LINES,   THE   GEEAT   DUNE. 

May,  1915. 

While  returning  from  a  night  reconnaissance  between 
the  lines  one  of  our  Zouaves  had  been  killed;  his  body 
lay  for  several  days  in  the  sand  about  forty  feet  from 
our  first  Une. 

His  corporal,  a  very  brave  Alsatian,  could  not  look 
over  the  parapet  without  noticing  his  comrade's  body 
did  not  shrink  fast  enough.  Morning  and  night  he  was 
seen  very  pensive,  talking  to  himself,  irritable  with  the 


Then  one  day  when  it  was  quiet,  at  full  noon,  he 
was  seen  to  leave  the  trench,  a  shovel  in  one  hand  and 
a  wooden  cross  in  the  other.  Everyone,  breathless,  saw 
him  advance  slowly,  calmly 

At  first  the  Germans  fired  at  him  several  times,  miss- 
ing him,  notwithstanding  the  fact  they  were  only  about 
ninety  feet  away.  Then  they  ceased  firing  to  see,  no 
doubt,  what  this  fool  was  going  to  do ! 

He  stopped  close  to  the  Zouave's  body  placed  his 
cross  on  the  sand  and  staidly  began  to  dig  a  grave 

When  he  judged  it  to  be  deep  enough  he  put  the 
rigid  body  of  his  comrade  in  and  began  covering  him 
with  great  shovelfuls  of  sand.  Then  he  smoothed  the 
tomb,  planted  the  cross  and  adjusted  the  red  badge 
of  death * 

In  an  impressive  moment  of  silence — for  both  sides 
looked  on  without  losing  a  single  movement — they  saw 
*  The  red  tassel  of  his  hat.— Tr. 


NIEUPORT  17 

him  advance  to  the  head  of  the  knoll,  his  face  to  the 
cross,  click  his  heels  and  give  the  military  salute 

He  came  back  slowly  to  our  lines  and  jumped  briskly 
into  the  trench.  Immediately  he  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  before  liis  squad  back  of  the  parapet,  with  fixed 
bayonet,  facing  the  grave  his  hands  had  dug. 

"Stand  at  ease!"  said  he,  "listen  carefully.  My 
men  who  fall  will  not  lack  a  burial  nor  will  they  lie 
in  the  open  air  like  rotting  dogs.    Break  1" 


Fifteen  days  later  a  German  buUet  struck  him  in 
the  head  back  of  a  loophole.  He  was  killed  instantly. 
His  comrades  interred  him  in  the  Zouave  cemetery  at 
Nieuport-Baths.  They  wrote  his  name  on  a  piece  of 
paper,  which  they  rolled  up  and  placed  in  a  bottle 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  TEBEITOEIAL,  NIEUPORT, 

May,  1915. 

It  has  rained  all  day.  Toward  nightfall  only  did 
rain  cease  to  fall.  The  sky  is  gray  and  heavy,  but 
the  air  Is  fresh.  The  Marines  in  their  dripping  oil- 
skins walk  to  and  fro  in  the  trench.  The  air  is  so 
clear  that  we  can  see,  over  there  on  the  horizon,  the 
silhouette  of  Bruges,  with  its  old  houses  and  high 
towers. 

"It  is  sad  to  see  ymi  so  mirage-like  and  far  away, 
oh!  Bruges  the  captive,  braVe  city,  in  all  your  his- 
tory you  have  thirsted  for  liberty " 

Two  hours  pass  and  it  is  time  to»  rejoin  my  comrades 


18  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

at  the  cantonment.  But  I  turn  again  and  again  to 
review  the  panorama  before  me. 

I  come  at  last  to  Nieuport.  As  I  enter  the  principal 
street,  I  see  going  ahead  a  brave  Territorial,  who  also 
returns  to  the  cantonment  unshaven  and  unkempt  after 
his  long  ^^gil  in  the  trenches.  He  is  completely  equipped 
with  all  his  personal  belongings,  but  is  in  no  hurry. 
This  brave  man  is  leaving  the  front  for  good  because 
he  is  the  father  of  five  children.  He  precedes  me  some 
thirty  paces  and  I  hasten  to  catch  up  with  him. 

We  arrive  at  the  top  of  the  Casino,  when,  suddenly, 
a  whistling  announces  the  arrival  of  a  shell — explosion, 
smoke — a  jagged  piece  of  metal  strikes  him  in  the  head 
and  I  see  the  man  fall  in  front  of  me. 

The  acrid  smoke  gags  me,  but  I  am  quickly  at  his 
side.     He  is  dead:  fractured  skull — his  face  purple — 

mouth  open — his  brains   strewn  on  the  pavement 

*     *     * 

That  night  while  I  am  at  dinner  with  my  comrades, 
an  orderly  comes  to  say  that  there  is  someone  outside 
who  wishes  to  speak  with  me.  In  the  darkened  passage- 
way I  scarcely  recognize  the  chaplain  of  the  16th  Ter- 
ritorials, a  man  very  simple  and  good. 

"Lieutenant,  you  know,  without  doubt,  that  we  have 
had  one  of  our  men  killed  but  a  short  while  ago.  We 
are  going  to  bury  him  at  sunrise.  Unfortunately  we 
have  no  one  to  play  the  organ — Figon  is  in  the  trenches 
• — you  will  be  very  kind  to  play  something  for  us." 

"Good;  you  can  count  on  me." 
«     «     » 


NIEUPORT  19 

All  night  long  the  sight  of  distant  Bruges  and  the 
death  of  the  poor  Territorial  haunt  me.  I  am  seated 
before  the  piano  in  our  "Villa"  where  we  have  installed 
our  entire  menage. 

I  begin  to  improvise  a  melody,  sweet  and  infinitely 
sad  and  the  theme  recurs  again  and  again,  developing 
into  a  funeral  chant — yes,  very  soon  I  will  play  that 
for  him 

*     *     * 

Toward  dawn  a  man  comes  to  find  me.  It  is  very 
calm  outside  and  the  sector  has  a  sleepy  air. 

I  enter  the  church  where  can  be  seen  large  breaches 
in  the  walls  and  roof.  A  coffin  hastily  constructed, 
and  covered  with  the  Tricolor,  red,  white  and  blue,  is 
in  the  choir,  resting  on  two  wooden  supports.  The 
organ  is  at  its  side,  so  close,  so  close,  that  I  see  the 
man's  blood,  which  flows  drop  by  drop,  through  the 
boards  of  the  rudely  built  coffin — a  brilliant  red  spot 
glistens  on  the  white  flagstone. 

A  few  men  of  the  16th  and  some  stretcher-bearers 
are  kneeling  in  the  nave ;  others  arrive  one  by  one, 
helmet  in  hand,  without  noise 

Scarcely  had  the  service  commenced  and  the  priest 
begun  his  chant  for  the  dead,  than  German  and  French 
shells  screaming,  pass  over  the  church,  as  if  they  were 
searching  for  each  other  in  the  air.  The  shots  prog- 
ressed angrily,  followed  by  their  plaintive  mewing. 

At  the  offertory,  I  played  the  sad  melody  on  the 
organ  I  had  improvised  during  the  night.  I  put  all 
my  heart  and  emotion  into  it.     But  soon  everything 


20  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

seemed  to  grow  dark  within  me — I  saw  in  the  distance 
the  towers  of  Bruges  and,  close,  a  coffin  and  a  sheet 

of  blood 

^^Dies  irae.  Dies  Ula " 


ON  PATEOL  BEFORE  ST.  GEORGES. 

May,  1915. 

Before  starting  out  I  have  taken  my  automatic  pistol 
out  of  its  scabbard  and  slipped  it  in  my  pocket. 

I  must  go  to  the  other  side  of  the  canal  to  the 
farm  of  the  "Dead  Cow."  An  ensign  from  the  cruiser 
X accompanies  me  with  a  dozen  or  so  men. 

Two  of  my  sappers  go  along  to  aid  the  installation 
over  there  of  an  infernal  machine.  As  German  patrols 
reconnoiter  the  farm  it  will  be  a  good  turn  at  their 
game 


As  darkness  falls  we  tumble  into  a  boat  and  cross 
the  evacuation  canal.  All  this  is  done  with  marked 
silence.  We  creep  along  revolver  in  hand.  There  is 
no  one  in  the  ruins  of  the  farm.  The  patrol  spreads 
itself  around  us,  and  during  this  interval,  with  my  two 
poilus,  I  install  the  snare  for  the  boches ! 

The  work  ended,  we  fall  silently  back. 

Not  a  shot ! 

We  have  returned  to  our  lines  without  an  incident! 


NIEUPORT  81 


LADY  DOROTHY,  THE  GREAT  DUNE, 

May,  1915. 

We  are  at  table.  Major  Peigne  presides  at  break- 
fast of  the  officers  of  the  19th  Company,  2nd  Bat- 
talion. The  subjects  of  conversation  which  recur  each 
day  in  a  sappers'  kitchen  have  been  exhausted :  progress 
of  work  along  the  sector,  effect  of  the  last  bombard- 
ment, news  of  the  absent  ones,  criticism  of  work  ac- 
complished by  the  soldiers,  next  permissions;*  then 
we  take  up  the  eternal  question,  the  only  one  which 
counts,  assuredly,  woman. 

There  have  been  many  weeks  in  which  not  a  one  of 
us  has  seen  a  woman's  petticoat,  not  a  one,  I  swear  it ! 

To  be  in  this  cursed  city  of  Nieuport  is  not  an  en- 
viable "visit  at  the  seashore" — the  enemy  systematically 
persists  in  destroying  it:  the  Casino,  the  villas  and 
the  approaches  to  the  pier  are  completely  torn  to 
pieces.     Can  you  imagine  a  woman  in  such  a  place? 

Stories  of  woman,  adventures  of  woman,  anecdotes 
of  woman,  serve  as  topics  of  conversations.  "When 
you  haven't  the  object  of  your  desires,"  said  a  pro- 
found philosopher,  "you  speak  of  it." 

The  conversation  became  general  again,  when,  all  at 
once,  Lieutenant  Divisia  silenced  us  with  a  finger  be- 
fore him.  No,  it  was  impossible  to  be  deceived,  my 
word  upon  it,  a  woman's  voice  was  heard  in  the  next 


room ! 


*  Vacations. 


22  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

Had  a  420  fallen  in  the  midst  of  us,  the  silence  could 
not  have  been  more  impressive — of  course  realizing  that 
it  would  have  flattened  us  like  pancakes.  But,  quickly 
and  with  remarkable  unison,  we  arose  quietly  with  the 
same  intention 

Yet,  with  an  energetic  gesture,  Major  Peigne,  who 
never  lost  a  bet,  stopped  us  and  made  for  the  door. 

"Remain  here,"  he  said,  "I  will  see  what  it  is !"  He 
entered  the  room  at  the  side,  nimbly  closing  the  door 
after  him.  It  was  very  malicious !  We  looked  at  each 
other  with  stupor  and  regret.  Then  we  cautiously  ap- 
proached the  crack  in  the  boards  that  separated  the 
two  spaces.  It  was,  in  effect,  a  woman,  young  woman 
deliciously  beautiful,  I  assure  you — an  indelible  vision 
in  this  terrible,  stricken  little  city.  Lady  Dorothy, 
with  her  pretty  khaki  costume,  appeared  before  us  for 
the  first  time !  She  had  the  air  of  a  warlike  Amazon 
which  became  her  perfectly,  and,  at  first  sight,  we  all 
had  fallen  in  love  with  her 

She  was  engaged  in  a  lengthy  conversation  with  our 
corporal-secretary  to  whom  she  had  been  sent  to  do 
her  bit  among  the  sr^ldiers,  all  unknown  to  us. 

We  all  thought:  "Little  Lady  Dorothy,  the  gold 
of  your  blonde  hair  which  we  see  through  the  slit  in 
the  partition  is  as  precious  a  bit  as  that  you  are  offer- 
ing to  our  corporal " 

After  that  we  saw  several  times  the  fugitive  vision 
of  this  angel  with  the  blonde  locks  searching  among  the 
ruins  for  our  wounded.  She  drove  her  own  automobile 
with  a  steady  hand,  with  enemy  shells  breaking  around 
her,  vainly  seeking  to  blow  her  to  bits. 


NIEUPORT  23 

THE  CONSCIENTIOUS  POILU,  BEFORE  ST.  GEORGES, 

May,  1915. 

The  nights  are  still  very  cold  and  to  warm  ourselves 
we  have  builded  a  comfortable  fire  by  the  sea.  Sacks 
of  sand,  skillfully  fixed  by  Richard,  mask  the  flashes 
from  the  brazier,  for  otherwise  they  would  certainly 
invite  T7's  and  105's  wliich  the  enemy  would  not  lose 
time  dropping  among  us  to  disturb  our  momentary 
comfort  in  the  first  line. 

Reymond  and  I  have  many  things  to  discuss  and 
the  hours  pass  relatively  fast ;  the  Marine  Fusiliers 
come  and  go  in  the  trenches  and  communicating  lines 
with  a  sort  of  nervous  activity  that  never  leaves  them 
night  or  day,  a  trait  found  only  in  men  that  follow 
the  sea. 

The  sector  is  extremely  calm,  the  tide  has  gone  out 
a  bit  and  Reymond  has  sent  a  patrol  to  the  other 
side  of  the  evacuation  canal. 

Soon  the  poilu  in  charge  of  the  patrol  returns  and, 
walking  up  to  his  superior,  says : 

"Captain,  we  have  been  out  reconnoitering  the 
enemy ;  we  saw  a  boche  on  sentinel  duty ;  he  did  not 
see  us — I  believe  I  can  get  him." 

"How  far  is  he?" 

"About  half  a  mile  away." 

"Go— get  him !" 

We  continued  the  conversation  as  the  poilu  went  on 
his  errand ;  it  struck  us  that  the  man  had  been  deceived. 
As  on  a  certain  night  they  had  charged  on  a  blind, 
about  a  hundred  yards  from  here — - — 


£4  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

The  night  was  passing  without  incident  when  soon 
our  brave  chap  returned  and,  assuming  his  former  posi- 
tion before  his  officer,  said: 

"Captain,  I  cannot  get  him — there  is  a  network  of 
barbed  wire.    Can  I  kill  him?" 

"Why,  certainly.  Always  use  your  own  judgment. 
You  don't  usually  have  time  to  come  back  for  instruc- 
tions  " 

Again  he  started  out  and  the  heavens  began  to  pale ; 
we  searched  once  more  for  images  of  the  past  in  the 
glowing  embers  of  the  wood  fire  which  was  fast  dying 
out. 

Suddenly,  over  there,  toward  the  German  lines,  a 
rifle  shot  broke  the  stillness  of  the  night,  followed  by 
the  well-known  machine-gun  serenade;  immediately 
rockets,  star  shell  and  the  artillery  came  to  life 

Reymond  rises,  standing  very  stiff  and  straight. 

"Ah,  hang  it!  The  poor  devil  must  be  shot  to 
pieces- 


Our  own  cannon  begin  to  mix  in  the  fray.  Reymond 
decides  to  send  some  men  after  the  others.  He  is 
visibly  concerned  about  our  soldiers  and  is  on  the  verge 
of  going  himself. 

Just  then  the  poilu  stands  before  him  for  the  third 
time,  saluting  respectfully: 

"Captain — I  have  killed  him!" 

And  he  said  it  with  a  kind  of  accent  that  made  a 
shiver  run  down  the  spine. 

The  sky  commences  to  resolve  itself  into  long  yellow 
and  gray  stripes — ah,  Flanders ! — ah,  Flanders ! 


NIEUPORT  25 

SIGNS  ALONG  THE  YSER,  BEFOEE  ST.  GEORGES, 

May,  1915. 

The  Marine  Fusiliers  leave  everywhere  traces  of 
their  esprit. 

They  have  taken  from  a  home,  three-fourths  de- 
molished, a  little  statue  of  the  Virgin,  former  pro- 
tectress of  the  household. 

Carrying  it  into  the  first-line  trenches  with  them, 
they  have  constructed  a  niche  for  the  Virgin  in  the 
sandbags. 

V^ith  her  open  arms  and  sad  air  she  seems  to  say 
to  them: 

"Our  Lady  of  the  Sandbags,  pray  for  us ; 
A  simple  figure  in  the  niche  am  I, 
Pitying  my  children  constantly ; 
Die  or  win  the  war  they  must !" 


Some  yards  farther  is  found,  a  little  back  of  the 
first  line,  a  large  projectile,  about  three  feet  in  length, 
fortunately  unexploded,  of  the  kind  the  boches  have 
been  generously  distributing  among  us  with  their  "min- 
nenwerfer"  for  some  time.     A  notice  of  warning  says: 

"We  beg  of  you  to  let  the  infant  sleep  I" 


The  sand  creeps  into  everything;  that  is  why  the 
poilus,  for  the  entire  length  of  the  first-line  trench, 


26  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

have  placed  cigar-boxes  in  which  to  keep  their  cart- 
ridges. 

On  each  one  is  written:     "Alms  for  the  boches!" 

THE   DEATH    OF   KUHN,    PARIS. 

Jime,  1915. 

My  concierge  brought  me  the  following  letter  this 
morning: 

WITH   THE  ARMY. 

June  13,1915. 

My  Dear  Capart:  A  sad  thing  has  happened  since 
your  departure.  Our  poor  Kuhn  was  killed  two  days 
ago.     This  is  what  occurred: 

"You  know  that  the  enemy  and  ourselves-  have  been 
carrying  on  mining  warfare;  so  three  days  ago  the 
Brigade  decided  to  execute  a  'coup  de  main'  and  de- 
stroy the  work  of  the  boches. 

"The  *coup  de  main'  was  carried  out  by  volun- 
teers from  the  4th  Zouaves,  who  acted  as  a  covering 
party  for  the  sappers  charged  with  the  operation. 
Kuhn  asked  to  lead  the  volunteers  who  came  forward. 

"Everything  passed  very  well  at  the  beginning,  the 
artillery  preparation  was  perfect  and  at  the  given  hour 
they  went  at  it  lively.  The  sappers-  captured  in  the 
mine  twenty-two  Germans,  all  very  young,  and  an 
officer.  They  passed  them  rapidly  back  and  it  was  at 
this  moment  enemy  reaction  was  felt.  Kuhn  remained 
the  last — the  mine  blew  up — we  saw  him  totter  and 
fall  on  the  parapet  of  the  boche  trench,  among  the 


Lieutenant  Kuhn's  grave. 


NIEUPORT  27 

partially  cut  barbed  wire.  Whether  he  was  killed  by 
the  explosion  of  the  mine  or  a  German  bullet  no  one 
knows — we    were   forced   back    and    it    was    very   late. 

"That  night  there  was  general  consternation:  his 
men  cried.  A  little  sapper  went  out  all  by  himself 
to  recover  the  body.  He  could'  not  endure  to  see  the 
body  of  his'  lieutenant  remain  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy. 

"Three  times  he  tried  to  reach  Kuhn's  corpse  in 
spite  of  incessant  enemy  fire  which  remained  on  the 
qui-vive. 

"Finally,  crouching,  he  came  close  enough  to  pass 
a  cord  under  the  arms  and  started  back,  rolling  the 
circular  wire  entanglements  in  a  manner  you  can  very 
well  imagine. 

"At  last  he  cleared  the  body  from  the  wire,  but  we 
thought  several  times  he  would  be  the  victim  of  his 
own  devotion. 

"At  sunrise  all  that  remained  of  Kuhn  was  in  our 
lines.  Captain  Perroud  came  to  see  hira  and  I  accom- 
panied him.  Our  poor  friend's  body  was  literally  rid- 
dled  with   bullets,  he   was    almost   unrecognizable 

"What  are  you  going  to  say  to  his  mother.  He 
was  the  only  one  left. 

"He  liked  you  very  much  and  of  course  you  will  not 
fail  to  write  a  few  words  to  the  poor  woman. 

"Come  back    soon — we   miss    you! 

"Degove." 


CHAPTER  TWO 

MALANCOURT  WOOD  AND  ST.  MENE- 
HOULDE 


This  chapter  adds  a  few  impressions  noted  hy  the 
author  dui^ng  a  very  short  trip  he  made  to  the  Ar- 
gorme  in  the  month  of  July,  1915. 

It  was  at  this  epoch  the  army  of  the  Crown  Prince 
undertook  strong  attacks  to  the  north  of  St.  Mene- 
houlde. 

This  sojourn  took  place  between  the  two  periods 
spent  on  the  Belgian  front. 

For  the  first  time  Sub -Lieutenant  Capart  took  part 
in  an  episode  in  the  war  of  mines. 

After  having  visited  Verdun,  Douaumont,  and  made 
a  series  of  reconnaissances  in  Malancourt  Wood,  that 
of  Hesse,  and  also  to  the  west  of  Vauquois,  Capart  left 
for  the  Flanders'  front  where  he  took  up  his  unfinished 
work. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

AliONG  THE  MAIN   STREET,  ST.  MENEHOULDE. 

July,   1915. 

CANNON  rumble  in  the  distance 
Poilus   go   and   come   along   the   thoroughfare. 
There   is    a   great   bustle   in   the   village.      The 
Argonne  is  the  only  interesting  sector  at  this  moment. 
"Pretty  hot  up  there?" 
"I  should  say !    Just  came  out  of  it !" 
"Did  you  advance.?" 

"Yes.     They  attacked  in  mass  formation,  shouting 
'St.  Menehoulde— St.  Menehoulde !' " 
"You  replied?" 

"Pigs'  feet !  Pigs'  feet !  and  we  ate  'em  up,  lieu- 
tenant !"  * 

AN     EPISODE    IN     MINING    WARFARE, 
MALANCOURT    WOOD. 

July   7,    1915. 

We  arrived  yesterday  afternoon  toward  dusk,  in  an 
automobile,  and  in  full  view  of  the  enemy. 

General  de  Salins,  who  commanded  the  Brigade, 
found  us  at  this  moment  on  the  edge  of  the  wood  and 

*  St.  Menehoulde  is  the  center  of  the  "  pigs'  feet "  industry. — ^Tr. 

31 


32  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

could  not  believe  his  eyes — Gueneau  and  I  were  Bump- 
ing along,  making  very  slow  progress  on  account  of 
the  numerous  shell-holes  along  the  road  made  during 
the  last  bombardment. 

What  a  magnificent  afternoon !  At  this  time  of  the 
year,  Malancourt  Wood  is  an  exquisite  sight.  The 
lengthening  rays  of  the  sun  easily  penetrate  the  green 
foliage  of  the  trees  that  completely  surround  us. 

This  sector  had  been  active  enough  before,  when  the 
enemy  for  the  first  time  attacked  with  flame-throwers. 
After  that,  save  for  the  days  when  mines  were  exploded, 
the  wood  became  one  of  the  most  quiet  spots  on  the 
front. 

We  are  heartily  received  by  our  sapper-comrades. 

At  night  we  all  go  together  into  the  first-line  trench, 
where  there  are  but  few  soldiers.  It  is  very  black 
without.  Not  a  rifle  shot,  not  the  sound  of  a  cannon. 
What  a  difference  from  the  sector  in  Flanders ! 

We  leave  the  trench  and  go  over,  crouching,  into 
No  Man's  Land,  advancing  with  great  precaution 
through  the  tall  grass.  When  a  rocket  flares  from  our 
lines  or  those  of  the  enemy,  we  flatten  with  our  faces 
to  the  ground  and  remain  without  the  slightest  move- 
ment. Then  we  advance  again,  holding  our  breath. 
Finally  we  arrive  at  the  enemy's  barbed  wire  entangle- 
ments and  hear  them  talking  in  their  trenches. 

I  am  close  to  Gueneau,  who  listens  attentively  while 
I  murmur  in  his  ear : 

"Old  chap,  yesterday  at  this  time  we  were  drinking 
a  whisky  and  soda  on  the  boulevard." 


MALANCOURT  WOOD— ST.  MENEHOLLDE    33 

We  pass  the  night  in  a  shelter  placed  at  our  disposal 
by  Major  Jouanic.  We  must  assist  in  the  early  morn- 
ing at  the  explosion  of  a  mine  under  an  enemy  listen- 
ing post. 

We  choose  our  time  and  it  is  yet  night  when  we 
start  out.  Hardly  awake,  we  look  more  like  a  hunting 
party :  nearly  all  the  sappers  preceding  us  in  the  com- 
municating trench  are  carrying  clubs  and  might  be 
taken  for  beaters. 

Arriving  soon  at  the  first  line,  each  takes  the  place 
that  has  been  assigned.  I  look  at  my  watch — the  mine 
will  be  exploded  at  four  o'clock. 

It  is  near  the  edge  of  the  wood  and  I  gaze  into  the 
open  stretch  on  my  right.  The  sky  is  turning  a  deep 
rose  and  the  birds  are  singing,  as  they  sing  at  the 
break  of  a  beautiful  summer's  day.  All  else  is  asleep 
in  our  corner  of  the  earth,  and  for  us  who  know,  this 
silence  is  impressive 

Five  minutes  more 


I  look  in  front  of  me.  The  mined  spot  is  plainly 
visible — I  see  the  German  trench  and  the  barbed-wire 
entanglement  very  weU. 

Farther  to  the  right  is  the  place  where  Gueneau 
and  I  had  crouched  the  night  before;  I  see  the  tall, 
yellow  grass  and  the  zig-zag  path  by  which  we  had 
returned. 

Two  minutes 

My  eyes  do  not  leave  the  spot,  where,  in  a  few  mo- 
ments, human  beings  will  be  hurled  in  the  air  and  dis- 
appear. They  are  our  enemies,  but  one  experiences 
that  undefinable  feeling  that  one  is  conscious  of  when 


34  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

looking  at  the  guillotine  about  to  fall  before  you.  What 
silence ! 

Suddenly  an  enormous  gust  of  earth  leaps  into  the 
air —  One  gapes  with  stupor — a  heavy  detonation — 
the  earth  is  transformed  into  a  vast  volcano  and  black 
soil  and  stones  are  shot  continually  up ! 

Everything  in  the  vicinity  becomes  animated  and 
three  large  trees  begin  to  incline  slowly  in  different 
directions  with  sinister  crackings 

At  the  same  moment  I  see  very  distinctly  a  German 
soldier  thrown  high  into  space,  his  hands  tightly  clutch- 
ing his  rifle.  He  turns  over  slowly  and  then  his  gun 
goes  off,  having,  without  doubt,  unconsciously  pulled 
the  trigger. 

Then  it  is  this  column  of  earth  which  falls  showering 
and  covering  us  with  a  rain  of  stones  and  pebbles, 
thumping  the  ground  loudly 

And  then  comes  the  waking  of  battle;  the  stupor  is 
over  and  a  heavy  fusillade  breaks  out  along  the  whole 
line;  machine-guns  sputter,  and  the  artillery  fire  be- 
comes violent 

We  are  so  close  to  the  enemy  trench  that  we  hear 
the  cries  of  the  dying  and  wounded.  The  mine  ex- 
ploded at  a  well-selected  spot  and  the  losses  must  be 
heavy. 

These  cries  are  soon  transformed  into  heart-rending 
wails  which  portray  the  resulting  terror  and  anguish, 
cries  of  men  who  have  been  startled  out  of  their  sleep 
to  die. 


Lieutenant  Ducoux  with  the  Magpie  "  Anatole  "  in  Malancourt-wood. 


MALANCOURT  WOOD— ST.  MENEHOULDE    35 

Bullets  whistle  loudly  and  clip  the  earth  around  us — 
the  leaves,  the  new  and  pretty  leaves  of  the  wood, 
flutter  and  fall  in  our  midst  like  in  the  sad  days  of 
autumn 


Quiet  comes  again.  A  big  German  officer  has  the 
nerve  to  leap  on  the  parapet  of  the  trench  very  close 
to  us,  and  shout: 

"Well  done,  Seventh  Engineers!" 

His  attitude  seemed  to  imply :  "You  are  in  no  danger 
now."     He  then  jumps  back  quickly  into  his  trench. 

The  wounded  in  due  time  are  cared  for  and  taken 
back 

Work  is  finished  for  the  day ! 


THE  MAGPIE  "aNATOLE,"  MALANCOURT  WOOD. 

July  8,  1915. 

"WTiat  a  luncheon,  major!  It  is  too  much — too 
much,  a  thousand  times  too  much.  You  dine  well  in 
Malancourt  Wood !  Hors  d'oeuvres,  roast  chicken, 
chops.     What  a  remarkable  chef !" 

"I  agree  with  you — he  is  the  former  chef  of  the 
Lysistrata,  the  yacht  belonging  to  Mr.  James  Gordon 
Bennett,  himself !" 

So  saying.  Major  Jouanic  filled  his  goblet  with 
champagne  to  the  brim.  We  are  less  than  fifteen 
minutes  from  the  first  line  and  the  weather  is  mar- 
velous  


36  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

"Dessert  is  ready,  Ducoux,  you  can  bring  in  An- 
atole." 

Ducoux  got  up  and  left  table.  He  came  back 
soon  with  Anatole  on  his  finger,  a  young  magpie  who 
already  had  the  air  of  an  old  maid 

Anatole  is  not  well  brought  up — she  is  a  little  noisy. 
When  one  speaks  to  her  of  Madavie  Colette*  she  gives 
herself  up  to  comic  contortions,  and  what  a  sight ! 

She  drinks  greedily  of  champagne  out  of  the  guest's 
glass  and  becomes  shamefully  drunk  ! 

Now  she  staggers  around  the  table,  making  insuffer- 
able cries.  She  inclines  her  head,  staring  at  us  with 
one  eye 

"You  shame  us,  Anatole.  Be  quiet  and  let  us  hear 
no  more  from  you." 

Anatole  flutters  over,  seeking  refuge  on  Ducoux's 
shoulder,  whom  she  likes  best,  and  goes  to  sleep 

A   WALK   IN    THE    FOREST,   MALANCOURT   WOOD. 

July  8,  1915. 

This  afternoon  we  have  gone  to  inspect  the  sector. 
We  arrived  before  the  Poilu  Cemetery 

The  sun  shoots  great  streaks  of  light  through  the 
trees  and  the  spot  appears  to  us  like  a  mighty,  luminous 
temple 

No  one  near  the  graves  to  weep  and  pray,  and  the 
souls  of  the  dead  untroubled 

*  Mme.  Colette  is  a  well-known  French  author.  Her  works 
about  birds  and  animals  have  gained  her  an  enviable  reputation 
on  the  Continent. — Tr. 


MALANCOUHT  WOOD— ST.  MENEHOULDE    37 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  TEUTON,  MALANCOURT  WOOD. 

July  8,  1915. 

We  went  this  afternoon  to  see  one  of  our  friends, 
a  lieutenant  of  infantry,  in  the  neighboring  sector. 

Bringing  along  a  bottle  of  champagne,  we  drank 
it  with  him  at  the  listening  post,  twenty-five  yards  from 
the  enemy. 

Naturally  the  empty  bottle  was  hurled  by  a  skillful 
hand  into  the  trench  of  our  neighbors  in  front 

The  reply  was  not  long  in  coming:  three  77's  which, 
by  the  gods,  were  placed  well  enough,  but  which,  luckily, 
did  no  damage. 

These  imbecile  boches  always  lack  the  proper  spirit. 


CHAPTER  THREE 
RETURN  TO  NIEUPORT 


After  his  short  trip  to  the  Argonne,  the  author 
spent  the  last  days  of  July  in  the  Flanders'  Sector, 
where  he  remained  until  the  end  of  September. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

MOVING,   NIEUPORT. 

July,  1915. 

MY  poilus  were  disagreeably  surprised  this  morn- 
ing. The  proprietress  of  one  of  the  villas 
occupied  by  a  certain  number  of  my  men 
arrived  at  Nieuport  this  morning  accompanied  by  a 
Belgian  gendarme.  General  Hely  d'Oissel,  commanding 
the  Division,  had  authorized  the  latter  to  make  a  search 
for  some  wine  she  had  left  in  the  house. 

This  is  what  is  extraordinary :  it  is  true  the  wine 
was  there,  but  imagine  and  understand  the  despair 
of  the  poilus — they  did  not  suspect  the  existence  of 
the  treasure!  Some  good  pinard*  was  placed  in 
a  hole  under  the  stairway,  into  wliich  one  descended 
by  means  of  a  trap  door,  also  skillfully  camouflaged 
by  a  morsel  of  linoleum. 

And  to  think  they  had  slept  several  months  over 
this  precious  pinard  without  knowing  it ! 

Luckily  the  good  woman's  carriage  could  not  enter 
the  city  on  account  of  the  barricades,  and  other  de- 
fense works,  so  my  good-natured  poilus  profited  by  it, 
and  aided  her  in  moving.     In  this  manner  they  saved 

*  Trench  vernacular  for  wine. 
41 


42  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

a  few  bottles,  which  probably  would  have  been  broken 
by  the  jolting  of  the  conveyance. 

THE    MAN    CUT    IN    TWO,    THE    TRIANGULAE   WOOD. 

July,  1915. 

This  cursed  road  is  terribly  torn  up. 

When  one  returns  to  the  city  of  Nieuport  by  auto- 
mobile it  is  necessary  to  go  at  top  speed  along  there. 
The  road  is  almost  obliterated  by  shell-holes  and  the 
bombs  which  fall  there  incessantly.  One  must  "fly" 
past  the  Triangular  Wood. 

This  trip  is  impressive  enough,  because  it  is  rare 
that  one  is  not  circumvallated  by  falling  shells.  It  is 
very  exciting! 

One  day  when  I  was  returning  to  Nieuport,  the 
bombardment  was  extremely  violent.  I  was  sitting 
alongside  the  chauffeur.  We  had  regulated  our  speed 
with  that  of  a  motorcyclist  who  preceded  us  by  two 
hundred  yards-. 

At  the  moment  when  we  were  leaving  the  Triangular 
Wood  and  had  about  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
the  motorcyclist  was  in  a  strange  manner  literally 
yanked  from  the  machine  by  the  force  of  an  explosion 
and  cut  in  two.  He  disappeared  in  a  great  cloud  of 
smoke  and  dust.  The  wind  was  blowing  rather  hard 
and  it  cleared  away  quickly.  We  saw  a  Territorial  on 
duty  and  he  signaled  with  his  rifle  to  stop  at  the  side  of 
the  man  who  had  been  killed.  The  time  and  place  had 
been  well  chosen,  but  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  obey, 
so  my  driver  set  the  brakes. 


RETURN  TO  NIEUPORT  43 

The  poilu  said  very  calmly: 

"I  stopped  you  to  tell  you  that  you've  got  to  go 
very  fast  along  here.  You  see  that  man  cut  in  two. 
It's  a  wicked  spot.  I've  been  here  for  two  hours  with 
instructions  to  tell  that  to  everyone  who  passes  here. 
That's  the  order  1" 


THE    FOURTH    ZOUAVES'    BATHTUB,    NIEUPORT. 

July,  1915. 

For    several    months    I    lived    among    the    rums,   of 

Madame  S 's  villa,  having  my  quarters  on  the  first 

floor.  My  orderly  replaced  the  shattered  window 
panes  with  bits  of  linoleum.  Opening  on  the  sea,  the 
rooms  were  only  partially  destroyed.  When  Com- 
mandant Peigne  left  for  Oostdunkerke,  he  turned  this 
sumptuous  apartment  over  to  me. 

From  every  angle,  in  my  opinion,  it  was  certainly 
the  most  comfortable  spot  of  any  in  Nieuport-Baths, 
and  particularly  in  the  villa:  the  rest  of  it  having 
been  more  or  less  wrecked  by  bombardment. 

On  the  ground  floor  there  was  a  grand  piano  which 
could  still  be  played. 

The  furniture  in  my  bedroom  was  still  in  place, 
also  there  was  a  magnificent  bathtub,  of  the  portable 
kind,  which  certainly  had  not  been  used  for  a  long 

time. 

One  fine  day  I  discovered  with  chagrin  that  the 
bathtub  had  disappeared  from  the  apartment!  Im- 
mediately I   inquired  every   place,  besides   protesting 


44  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

vehemently  against  this  inexplicable  theft.  As  we  Had 
our  mess  in  the  house,  I  could  not  help  but  believe  that 
someone  had  entered  my  rooms  without  the  knowledge 
of  our  cooks  and  secretaries  and  taken  my  one  luxury. 


Finally  I  had  an  explanation  of  this  mystery.  One 
day,  very  early  in  the  morning,  I  was  in  a  first-line 
trench,  held  by  the  4th  Zouaves,  and  was  preparing 
to  go  into  the  cantonment  for  breakfast,  when  one  of 
my  comrades  stopped  me  and  insisted  that  I  wait  for 
jus*  which  would  soon  come  up,  and  have  some  with 
him. 

It  arrived  shortly,  boiling,  carried  by  two  men,  in 
milady's  exquisite  bathtub ;  and  she  would  have  blushed 
to  the  roots  of  her  hair  could  she  have  seen  those 
scoundrels 


THE  BRICK  BEEDGE,  BEFORE  ST.   GEORGES, 

July,  1915. 

Why  is  this  wooden  bridge  called  the  "Brick 
Bridge"? 

The  latter  is  not  exactly  the  right  name.  Perhaps 
it  is  because  the  little  wooden  bridge  thrown  over  the 
evacuation  canal  at  some  time  has  been  taken  for  one 
of  brick  by  an  officer  of  the  Intelligence  Corps  while 
studying  the  map,  and  he  has  so  baptized  it. 

One   afternoon,  I  was   sitting  in   a  communicating 

•Coffee— Tr. 


RETURN  TO  NIEUPORT  45 

trench  at  the  side  of  Reymond,  a  few  paces  from  the 
Brick  Bridge. 

It  was  a  bright,  sunny  day  and  the  boches  were 
bombarding  us  with  105's.  The  sheUs-  passed  ten  or 
twelve  feet  over  our  heads,  whistling  loudly  and  ex- 
ploded in  the  brickyard  200  yards  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Passchendael  canal 

"If  they  lower  their  fire  we  are  gone,"  said  Rey- 
mond. 

The  sport  lasted  an  hour  and  they  did  not  change 
the  elevation  of  their  artillery,  fortunately.  I  was 
prepared  that  day  to  await  calmly  anything  that 
came.  One  gets  accustomed,  progressively,  to  chat- 
ting unconcernedly  and  without  a  trembling  of  the 
voice  when  waiting  for  a  mocking  death  that  does  not 


"But  I  have  it,"  said  Reymond.  "I  know  why  it  is 
called  the  Brick  Bridge— because  the  brickyard  is 
opposite- 


_i" 


So  we  were  satisfied  that  day. 


THE  queen's  flag. 

July  21,  1915. 

To-day  it  is  the  anniversary-fete  of  the  independence 
of  Belgium,  and  as  we  are  at  the  extreme  point  of 
the  Allied  hne  of  defense,  on  Belgian  territory,  a  cap- 
tain of  the  8th  Tirailleurs  and  myself  had  the  idea  of 
raising  a  little  Belgian  flag  on  the  listening  post  at  the 
Great  Dune. 


46  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

The  enemy's-  listening  post  faced  us  and  was  only 
fifteen  yards  from  our  own.  It  was  there  we  ex- 
changed, in  ordinary  times,  bread,  packages  of  to- 
bacco, newspapers,  hand  grenades  and  rifle  shots 

We  went  to  search  for  a  flag  that  was  red,  yellow 
and  black,  at  the  dugout  of  the  chaplain  of  the  16th 
fTerritorials,  who  had  ornamented  the  altar  of  his 
chapel  with  French  colors  and  those  of  the  Allies. 

The  breeze  was  fresh  enough  and  our  little  flag 
waved  haughtily  in  the  face  of  our  adversary. 

All  day  the  Germans,  as-  if  enraged,  fired  volleys  at 
our  flag.  The  cloth  was  riddled  with  bullets,  the  staff 
itself  split  in  two  pieces.  When  it  fell  one  of  our 
Tirailleurs  went  crouching  out  and  replaced  it. 

That  night  I  took  it  down  myself,  rolled  it  up  and 
carried  it  back. 

The  following  day  I  sent  the  flag  to  Dr.  Depage 
at  La  Panne.  A  few  hours  later  it  graced  the  boudoir 
of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

"Ah,"  said  our  Tirailleurs,  "it  brings  him  good  luck, 
this  souvenir  of  July  21 — she  has  kept  it!" 


MR.     VEDOVELLl's    BOXES,    NIEUPORT. 

August,  1915. 

To-day  the  sun  is  atrociously  hot  and  the  river 
Yser  and  the  canals  exhale  nauseating  puffs  from  de- 
caying bodies  and  carrion  flesh  which  are  not  very 
agreeable  to  the  nostrils. 

Toward  nightfall  I   found   an  ideal  spot   to   rest: 


RETURN  TO  NIEUPORT  47 

the   Sub-commandant's   Post   North,    on    the    road   to 
Lombaertzyde. 

I  am  comfortably  seated  in  a  wicker  armchair  by 
the  side  of  Commandant  Martel  and  we  have  seen  the 
penumbra  deepen  as  darkness  falls.  Jupiter  sparkles 
in  the  heavens;  in  the  distance  vagrant  flashes  of  fire 
appear  like  a  lingering  hunting  party. 

We  are  waiting  for  a  squad  of  Territorials  to  bring 
up  several  portable  storage  batteries  (Vedovelli's  sys- 
tem) to  light  the  commandant's  post.  They  were  con- 
tained in  cumbersome  boxes  and  the  good  man  had  pro- 
vided adjustable  handles  in  order  to  make  the  work 
easier  for  the  men.     These  he  had  shown  to  us. 

But  I  was  not  a  bit  surprised  when  my  Territorials 
did  not  arrive  at  the  appointed  time,  because,  in  spite 
of  Vedovelli's  "handles,"  the  boxes  were  so  heavy  as 
to  be  scarcely  movable. 

Finally  I  saw  two  of  them  coming,  dripping  with 
sweat,  puffing,  their  eyes  bulging,  equipped  naturally 
with  their  packs  and  with  warm  winter  clothing  for 
the  approaching  winter  campaign. 

At  last  they  arrived.  Letting  the  box  with  the 
adjustable  handles  fall  brutally,  they  cried  in  unison 
as  if  compensated  for  the  load: 

"Norn  de  Dieu  de  tons  les  noms  de  Dieu,  I  hope 
this  damned  box  with  its  dirty  handles-  bursts  in  the 
inventor's  jstomach!" 


4d  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

A   SHELL   IN   MY  HOME,    NIEUPOET, 

August,  1915. 

I  am  just  about  to  start  writing  in  my  room,  when 
suddenly,  a  boche  shell  explodes  some  place  in  the 
house. 

A  loud  detonation — smolce — shell  fragments  and 
debris  strike  around  me — a  little  dust  on  my  uniform 
— that's  all 

A  horrible  cry  comes-  from  the  ground  floor — I  de- 
scend in  jumps 

Our  corporal-secretary  lies  in  a  pool  of  blood, 
gravely  wounded  in  the  thigh. 

The  "little  fellow,"  shod  in  his  sandals  which  he 
never  has  off,  is  already  at  his  side.  He  believed  it 
was  I  that  was  struck.  With  him  I  carry  the  wounded 
corporal  into  the  kitchen  where  Simyan,  the  king  of 
cooks  and  cowards,  turns  white  with  fear  on  seeing 
u&  enter 

AN  IDEA  OF  JEAN  GOUIN,*  BEFORE  ST.  GEORGES, 

August,  1915. 

Just  now  Reymond  and  I  are  sharing  breakfast  in  a 
first-line  trench 

*  Jean  Gouin  is  the  personification  of  everything  witty,  brave 
and  odd  about  the  Marine  Fusiliers,  the  French  soldiers  of  the 
sea.  One  of  them  is  always  referred  to  as  Jean  Gouin.  The 
Germans  learned  to  respeet  him  very  deeply  in  the  first  days 
of  the  war. — Tr. 


Richard  in  the  midst  of  his  comrades. 


RETURN  TO  NIEUPORT  49 

A  Marine  Fusilier  conceived  the  drdle  idea  of  un- 
screwing from  one  of  the  abandoned  coaches  in  Nieu- 
port  one  of  these  little  notices  that  the  railroad  com- 
pany places  under  each  window  to  warn  travelers  of 
the  dangers  of  poking  their  heads  out.  The  little 
enameled  sign  had  been  nailed  by  him  on  a  plank  in 
one  of  the  first-line  traverses,  where  one  could  read, 
with  profit,  this  notice: 

"It  i&  dangerous  to  stick  your  head  out  here!" 

eichabd's  god-mother,  on  the  yser, 
August,  1915. 

"Listen,  Richard,  a  pretty  marquise  has  requested 
that  I  find  her  a  god-son!     Do  you  want  to  be  elected.? 

"You  are  a  husky  lad  like  all  the  Marine  Fusiliers, 
your  behavior  was  good  at  Steenstraat,  you  are  also 
good-looking,  in  short  you  have  all  the  required  at- 
tributes that  go  to  make  up  a  perfect  god-son." 

"With  pleasure,  lieutenant,  thanks " 

"In  that  case  I  will  take  your  photograph  im- 
mediately, in  the  midst  of  your  comrades,  so  that  I 
can  send  one  to  your  god-mother.  She  will  be  carried 
away!      I    forgot    to   tell   you   that    the   Marquise   de 

R is  charming  and  you  will  be  spoiled  as  no  one 

else " 

Some  days  after  I  sent  Richard  the  picture  which 
he  slipped  in  a  letter  addressed  to  his  god-mother — 
a  very  nice  letter  and  well  written. 

A  few  days  later  the  young  chap  told  me  th^t  he 
was  going  on  his  vacation. 


50  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

"Don't  fail,  Richard',  to  call  on  your  god-mother," 
I  cautioned,  adding  with  a  smile,  "and  don't  forget  to 
kiss'  her  for  me." 

It  was  only  a  short  while  before  I  received  the  fol- 
lowing letter  from  the  Marquise  de  R : 

"You  have  sent  me  a  charming  god-son,  but  the  day 
of  his  arrival  he  seized  me  in  his  arms  as  if  with  all 
his  strength  and'  planted  a  sonorous  kiss  on  both 
cheeks,  saying,  'On  behalf  of  my  god-father !' 

"It  appears  that  you  are  his  god- father!  I  am  still 
thrilled  by  it.  I  pardon  you  this  time  because  this 
brave  boy  has  lifted  a  small  corner  of  the  great  veil 
that  hangs  over  Paris  and  which  hides  your  sufferings. 
You  are  bold,  he  told  me-^do  not  expose  yourself  use- 
lessly. 

"The  life  in  Paris  is  once  more  the  same  as  ever. 
I  am  sending  you  some  Parma  violets,  since  you  like 
them.  They  are  all  that  I  could  find.  I  seldom  go 
out.  It  is  quite  a  long  time  since  you  have  writ- 
ten  " 


COERESPONDENCE  WITH  THE   ENEMY,    BEFOEE  ST. 
GEORGES, 

August,  1915. 

On  arriving  at  the  "Brick  Bridge"  to-night,  I  found 
everyone  in  great  spirits.  There  was  a  group  along 
the  edge  of  the  canal — in  the  middle  wa&  a  boche 
prisoner. 

The  big  lumbering   cuss   had   the   air   of  complete 


RETURN  TO  NIEUPORT  51 

bewilderment.  Our  marines  were  all  talking  to  him 
at  once  and  harassing  him  with  a  thousand  questions. 
An  officer  approached. 

"Quiet,  men!  Two  men  to  conduct  this  fellow  to 
the  Brigade  Headquarters,  and  lively !"  They  took 
the  road,  followed  by  the  German,  who  kept  at  their 
heels  like  a  pet  dog. 

The  officer  explained  that  for  several  days  his 
marines  had  maintained  correspondence  with  him. 
They  placed  their  messages  in  a  bottle  which  drifted 
along  with  the  current.     The  boche  had  written: 

"My  wife  has  advised  me  to  surrender,  but  you  are 
terrible   soldiers — you  certainly   would  massacre  me." 

Some  hours  later  the  reply  of  the  marines  came  to 
reassure  him  that  everything  would  be  all  right. 

This  tableau  lasted  several  days  and  "Jean  Gouin" 
ended  by  believing  that  it  was  a  ruse  of  the  enemy 
and  ceased  to  write.  Finally  a  message  came  to  them, 
drifting  along  in  the  bottle: 

"To-night  I  will  come  along  the  slope  of  the  canal. 
Do  not  shoot  at  me.     I  am  the  father  of  four  children." 

And  so,  when  night  fell,  they  saw  a  big,  black  mass 
creeping  along  the  edge  of  the  bluff.  Our  fusiliers 
were  ready  to  spring,  but  he  was  alone. 

With  his  two  guardians  the  deserter  was  taken  a 
roundabout  way.  They  passed  along  the  whole  first 
line  of  the  north  sector  because  the  two  Marines  wanted 
to  parade  the  boche  before  their  comrades. 

They   were  proud   of   this   capture   and   gave   their 


52  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

prisoner  cigarettes,  and  bread,  and'  one  of  them  had 
the  generosity  to  slip  a  box  of  s'inge*  into  his  pocket! 

They  led  him  farther,  almost  to  the  road  to  Lora- 
baertzyde,  to  show  him  to  the  Zouaves,  and  finally 
took  the  road  for  Brigade  Headquarters. 

In  the  sector  held  by  the  2nd  Regiment  of  Marine 
Fusiliers  they  discussed  this  incident  for  a  long 
time. 


FOE  THE   COOK  S  TOURISTS,  IN   FRONT   OF   ST.   GEORGES. 

August,  1915. 

Boche  torpedoes  are  decidedly  disagreeable  to  listen 
to.  The  spot  which  seems  fated  to  receive  more  than 
its  share  is  the  small  fort  north  of  St.  Georges,  350 
yards  from  the  "Brick  Bridge." 

The  Fusiliers  have  written  on  the  sand-bags:  *'Go 
easy — a  dangerous  bend !" 


PETITES    MARMITESjf    ON    THE    ROAD    TO     LOMBAERTZYDE. 

August,  1915. 

Commandant  de  Jonquieres  invited  my  comrade, 
Gueneau,  and  myself,  to  luncheon  at  the  Sub-com- 
mandant's Post  North — a  spot  that  had  a  villainous 

*  Singe — literally  monkey.    Vernacular  for  canned  beef  or  meat. — ^Tr. 

t  Petite  Marmite — Soup  cooked  and  served  in  a  small  earthen- 
ware or  metal  receptacle  or  pot.  Also,  term  used  for  German  shell  of 
big  caliber. — Tr. 


RETURN  TO  NIEUPORT  53 

reputation.     The  house  is  riddled  with  bullet  and  shell- 
holes. 

A  room  is  still  habitable  and  there  is'  found,  ad- 
mirably prepared,  the  commandant's  table,  with  white 
linen  napkins  properly  placed  at  each  plate  like  a 
metropolitan  restaurant. 

What  a  menu !  The  Marines  dine  well.  The  second 
course  has  been  served  when  a  loud  explosion  occurs 
in  the  vestibule:  a  105  has  burst  in  the  house  and  the 
dining-room  is  filled  with  dust  and  smoke. 

Commandant  de  Jonquieres  without  rising  from  his 
chair  cries  out: 

"Anybody  hit,  men?" 
A  Marine  investigates  and  repHes: 
"Nobody,  commandant,  but  there  is  some  plaster  in 
the  cream.     Shall  I  replenish  it?" 
"Call  the  chef." 

The  chef,  a  big,  robust  individual,  comes  in  im- 
mediately. 

"Commandant?" 

"Listen.  You  have  forgotten  to  write  'Petite 
Marmite'  on  our  menu.  Another  time  don't  forget  it. 
That's  all !"     And,  turning  to  us,  he  said,  as  if  nothing 

had  happened: 

"You  know  I  saw  a  movie  in  Toulon  that  was  abso- 
lutely amazing,  but  I  have  seen  better  in  Paris,  some 
months  before  the  war " 


54  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

THE  SADDEST  THING  IN   THE  WAR,  BEFORE  ST.  GEORGES. 

August,  1915. 

A  listening  post  between  the  Passchendael  and 
Evacuation  canals.  It  is  night — a  night  very  black 
and  without  moon.  I  find  a  group  of  Marines  seated 
on  the  ground  chatting  and  I  listen 

"What  is  the  saddest  thing  you  have  seen,  you.?" 

"It  was  at  the  beginning — we  were  in  Belgium.  It 
made  me  cry  to  see  the  burning  towns,  the  poor  people 
fleeing  with  everything  they  could  carry,  and  that  was 
not  much.  It  was  sad — and  it  gave  one  the  blues !  It 
hit  them  hard  so  suddenly — poor  people " 

"And  you,  Pierre,  what's  the  saddest  tale  you  know 
of.?" 

"The  death  of  Commandant  Jeanniot,  at  Dix- 
mude " 

There  was  deep  silence,  for  they  all  recalled  it.  A 
man,  aside  from  the  others,  had  listened  closely  with- 
out speaking — the  others  turned  toward  him: 

"And  you,  le  vieux,  what  would  you  say,?" 

"The  saddest.?  Allans,  you  have  forgotten  then 
our  friend  wounded  between  the  lines  who  babbled 
'mother'  all  night,  and  whom  we  could  not  rescue;  the 
same  whom  we  put  out  of  misery! — when  at  dawn  he 
called  to  us,  'Kill  me — I  suffer  too  much !'  " 

"And  you  shot  him?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  lieutenant,  we  killed  him — but  it  is  the  sad- 
dest thing  in  my  war " 

Tenez,  it  seemed  to  be  a  night  just  like  this  and  I 


RETURN  TO  NIEUPORT  55 

could   almost   hear    the    cry   "mother"    in   a    plaintive 
voice  that  grew  farther  and  farther  away 


THE  EED  LANTERN  AT  THE  FIRST  AID  STATION,  NIEUPOET. 

August,  1915. 

There  were  casualties  to-day.  I  am  waiting  for 
Thiebaut,  my  sergeant,  and  a  squad  of  men,  with  whom 
I  am  going  into  the  cantonment  to-night  at  Nieuport. 

We  are  to  meet  at  the  First  Aid  Station  and  a  few 
men  are  stretched  out  on  litters  moaning.  There  is 
one  particularly,  who  is  suffering  terribly :  he  has  been 
shot  through  the  stomach  and  the  surgeon  says  in  a 
hushed  voice  he  will  die  on  the  way  to  the  rear.  Poor 
chap,  his  breathing  is  labored.  They  are  waiting  for 
an  English  ambulance  to  carry  them,  which  will  arrive 
S'oon,  I  hope 

The  odor  of  ether  and  dressings,  mingled  with  the 
smell  of  blood,  sickens  me 

I  go  outside  from  time  to  time,  to  see  if  my  men 
have  not  come  up.  A  company  of  Fusiliers  are  being 
relieved  and  they  file  past  me.  One  hears  the  hurried 
shuffling  of  feet.  Then  an  artillery  duel  starts  up. 
It  is  very  dark  in  the  street.  The  lantern  hanging 
there  casts-  sinister  shadows  on  the  men.  Intermit- 
tently the  sky  is  brightened  up  by  enemy  star-shell. 
Their  lines  are  less  than  a  mile  away. 

A  soldier  passing  says  to  his  friend: 

"Look,  mon  vieux,  at  the  red  lantern — one  of  Nieu- 
port's  brothels !" 


56  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

THE  lock-keeper's  house,   nieuport. 
August,  1915. 

Two  of  my  men,  Poulet  and  Chandonnay,  were  liv- 
ing in  the  cellar  of  the  lock-keeper'&  home  where  they 
were  guarding  some  material  I  had  sent  up.  Also, 
there  was  a  picket  of  Territorials. 

I  left  Poulet  and  Chandonnay  this  particular  morn- 
ing at  the  moment  they  themselves  went  to  have  dinner 
with  their  comrades  a  short  distance  away.  I  had 
given  them  leave  until  after  breakfast  because  I 
wanted  to  make  some  changes  in  the  arrangement  of 
my  precious  storehouse. 

It  was?'  one  of  those  little  Flemish  brick  homes  where 
the  roof  and  two  stories  had  been  shattered  by  bom- 
bardment, nevertheless  in  much  better  condition  than 
the  neighboring  ones. 

I,  also,  went  to  dinner  on  the  other  side  of  the  locks, 
where  the  Marines  held  the  sector. 

The  bombardment  had  slackened  somewhat,  but 
from  time  to  time  420's  came  over,  and,  exploding, 
shook  everything. 

At  the  time  I  had  fixed  for  the  return  of  my  poilus 
to  the  cellar  of  the  lock-keeper's  home,  I  was  not  a 
little  surprised  to  see  them  coming  to  meet  me. 

"How  is  it,"  I  said,  "that  you  are  not  at  your  post 
where  you  should  be,  or  in  the  dugout  in  safety  .f"' 

"Our  post,"  they  replied,  stupefied,  "our  post — 
what  post,  lieutenant?" 

"The  lock-keeper's  house." 


RETURN  TO  NIEUPORT  57 

"It's  gone!" 

I  was  a  bit  angry,  but  we  at  last  arrived  at  the 
spot  where  it  should  have  been.  They  were  perfectly 
right.  There  was  no  more  lock-keeper's  house!  A 
420,  during  our  absence,  had  literally  fallen  right  on 
the  roof  of  the  cellar. 

"And  the  Territorials.?"  I  asked. 

"Chopped  meat,  lieutenant,  chopped  meat " 


A  BOCHE  WHO  HAD  ENOUGH.     THE  GREAT  DUNE, 

August,  1915. 

It  is  night 

The  sentinel  is  on  duty  at  the  extremity  of  the 
embankment  of  sandbags,  which  protects  the  pier 
from   shells  that  are  coming  over   fast. 

It  is  almost  midnight  and  the  brave  Territorial  looks 
continually  at  the  sea  which  splashes  at  his  feet. 

Suddenly  the  man  hears  an  unusual  sound  in  the 
water  in  front  of  him.  He  is  all  attention  and  cries 
out: 

"Halt,   there!      Who   goes.?" 

The  night  is  clear  and  soon  he  sees  two  dripping 
arms  stuck  high  in  the  air. 

"What  are  you  doing  there — this  is  not  the  time  to 
go  in  swinmiing — advance  with  the  countersign — it's 
a  boche!" 

"Kamarad!     Kamarad!    ..." 

"Listen  here,  I  regret  it,  but  I  can't  accompany 
you,  you  understand — I  can't  leave  my  post.     You  see 


58  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

that  bridge?  Take  it!  You  will  go  to  that  house  just 
over  there,  it  is  Marine  Headquarters,  and  ask  for 
the  commanding  officer.  Is  that  clear?  Now  get 
along — good-night." 

And  the  prisoner  left  alone 


A   SPECTACLE   OF   THE  WAR.     NIEUPORT, 

September,  1915. 

I  lunched  for  the  last  time  with  my  friend  Rey- 
mond.  He  is  accompanying  me  to  Brigade  Head- 
quarters of  the  Marine  Fusiliers,  where  I  must  say 
good-by,  because,  to-morrow,  I  leave  for  another 
sector. 

We  are  in  the  principal  street  of  Nieuport  and  are 
only  a  short  distance  from  our  objective  when  a 
frightful  detonation  rends  the  air  a  few  steps  away. 

Dense  clouds  of  smoke  envelop  everything.  A  few 
steps  more,  and  we  see  a  very  sad  spectacle.  Four 
105's,  two  timed  shell  and  two  percussion,  break  in 
the  midst  of  a  group  of  workers — forty  or  more 
Zouaves  are  on  the  ground,  wounded  or  dead 

Parbleu!  it  was  like  a  sight  at  the  Great  Dune,  on 
a  similar  occasion ;  one  could  not  help  but  see,  like  the 
nose  on  your  face What  indifference! 

A  Zouave,  short  and  stocky,  yelling  and  waving  his 
arms  madly — he  is  all  bloody — he  must  have  gone 
crazy 


CHAPTER  FOUR 
FIRST  VISIT  TO  VERDUN 


Sub-Lieutenant  Capart  left  the  Flanders'  sector 
for  good.  He  arrived  at  Verdun  during  the  first  days 
of  October. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

THE  FANCIFUL,  IDEA  OF  MAJOR  PETIT.     VERDUN, 

October,  1915. 

IN  the  middle  of  the  month  of  October,  1915,  I 
was  invited  to  dinner  by  General  Coutanceau, 
Governor  of  Verdun. 

Verdun,  at  this  particular  time,  still  retained  its 
aspect  of  a  little  garrison  city  in  times  of  peace,  and, 
when  I  entered  Bevaux  Barrack,  I  felt  far  away  from 
the  war 

I  found  Colonel  Masselin  who  awaited  me  in  his  office, 
busy  as  was  his  habit  and  who  rose  precipitately  on 
seeing  me  enter  the  room. 

"There  you  are — it  is  fine!  The  general  is  home 
and  it  is  the  hour  to  sit  at  table — he  does  not  like  to 
be  late." 

Some  moments  after,  I  was  in  the  presence  of  the 
Governor  of  Verdun,  a  man  very  big,  very  cold,  with  a 
severe  and  glacial  face. 

We  immediately  entered  the  dining-room  with  its 
barren  walls  like  those  of  a  school-room,  but  brightened 
by  a  great  wood  fire,  which  burned  joyously  on  the 
hearth. 

61 


62  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

We  sat  down  and  the  general  placed  me  at  his  side; 
the  menu  was  excellent  and  the  wines  perfect.  My 
neighbor,  in  spite  of  his  severe  mask,  was  a  very  fine 
and  spirited  conversationist,  also  this  dinner,  I  felt^ 
was  for  me  a  real  luxury,  inasmuch  as  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  finding  myself  in  the  company  of  this  mar 
of  esprit. 

One  spoke  naturally  of  the  war  and  I  stated  that 
in  my  opinion  this  epoch  did  not  resemble  the  others 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  relations  that  could  exist 
between  two  adversaries  in  the  course  of  hostilities.  In 
effect,  it  was  our  custom  in  youth  to  recite  of  truce- 
parties  who  came  with  bandaged  eyes  into  enemy  lines 
to  make  one  or  another  communication  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  adverse  troops. 

I  added  that  the  perfection  of  the  art  of  destruction 
had  killed  the  romantic  side  of  war  and  that  it  was 
very  regrettable. 

The  general  protested,  remarking  that  adventurous 
examples  were  not  lacking,  and  as  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned, he  was  able  to  relate  a  story  within  his  knowl- 
edge that  was  worth  the  trouble  of  telling. 

This  is  what  he  told  us  and  to  which  we  all  listened 
with  very  great  silence. 


Some  months  before  war  was  declared,  one  of  my 
old  friends  on  his  death  bed  urgently  recommended  his 
son  to  me. 

The  young  Count  de  Marnac  was  a  worthy  young- 


FIRST  VISIT  TO  VERDUN  6S 

ster,  and  to  his  misfortune — and  to  mine — he  was  a 
Camelot  du  Roi.* 

Nevertheless,  a  boy  very  daring  and  full  of  the  best 
sentiments.  I  was  convinced  he  would  be  an  excellent 
soldier.  Sergeant  in  a  regiment  of  infantry,  he  fought 
like  a  lion  in  the  Belgian  campaign  and  immediately 
distinguished  himself.  His  colonel  proposed  him  for  a 
sub-lieutenant  and  I  transmitted  the  request  to  General 
Sarrail,  under  whose  orders  I  then  was. 

Was  it  for  political  opinions  or  for  some  other  rea- 
son, I  know  nothing  of  it,  but  the  propositions  I  re- 
ceived from  his  colonel  and  which  I  hastened  to  send 
to  the  General,  were  held  without  reply 

So,  during  the  battle  of  the  Marne,  the  Division  to 
which  my  protege  belonged  was  on  the  right  bank  of 
the  Meuse;  I  came,  as  you  know,  to  be  completely 
surrounded  by  the  Germans  for  a  period  of  forty-eight 
hours. 

From  that  moment,  I  depended  no  longer  on  General 
Sarrail,  from  whom  I  was  totally  cut  off. 

So,  an  old  order  authorized  generals  commanding  a 
besieged  or  surrounded  spot  to  nominate  officers  up 
to  a  certain  rank. 

Having  still  in  mind  the  last  recommendation  of 
young  de  Marnac,  I  hastened  to  send  him  his  brevet 
of  sub-lieutenant. 


Up  to  here  there  is  nothing  romantic  in  my  story, 
♦Royalist.— Tr. . 


64  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OP  FRANCE 

but  you  will  see  how  this  animal  recompensed  me  for 
my  kindness. 

During  the  month  of  November,  1914,  his  Division 
was  engaged  in  murderous  fighting. 

He  had  a  battalion  chief,  named  Petit,  known  in  his 
regiment  for  his  lack  of  mental  equilibrium.  He  al- 
ways had  ideas  more  or  less  strange  and  fanciful,  and 
he  always  caused  comment  by  his  eccentricities  and 
his  bizarreries. 

I  had  ordered  an  operation  to  commence  in  the 
morning  of  the  15th,  and  Petit  told  all  his  men,  before 
the  attack,  that  he  would  give  one  dollar  for  every  pair 
of  German  trousers  they  brought  to  him ! 

Do  not  laugh,  he  had  more  extravagant  ideas  than 
that! 


The  attack  was  successful  and  our  poihis  struck  a 
hard  blow;  they  took  numerous  prisoners  and  reaped 
a  mountain  of  trousers ! 

This  sight  was  absolutely  grotesque;  the  boches  did 
not  know  what  we  wanted  with  them  and  this  "kilty" 
disguise  did  not  go  well  with  them  at  all. 

Petit,  himself,  was  literally  jubilant,  splitting  his 
sides  with  laughter  before  the  German  column  about  to 
start  for  the  rear  trouser-less. 

Lieutenant  de  Marnac  was  furious,  because  he  could 
not  admit  he  carried  on  war  in  this  manner  and  took 
it  upon  himself  to  go  into  the  German  lines,  on  a 
truce,  and  present  his  excuses  to  the  general  command- 
ing the  Division  in  front. 


FIRST  VISIT  TO  VERDUN  65 

He  fixed  a  white  handkerchief  on  the  end  of  his 
cane,  took  a  bugler  with  him  and  cahnly  started  out 
toward  the  enemy  trenches. 

All  went  well  enough;  the  Germans  bandaged  his 
eyes  and  as  he  conveniently  spoke  the  language,  he 
asked  the  first  officer  he  met  to  be  conducted  into  the 
presence  of  the  general  of  that  Division. 

The  latter  lived  in  a  little  village  ten  miles  back 
of  the  hnes  so  de  Marnac's  journey  was  long  enough. 
He  did  not  arrive,  until  darkness  had  fallen,  at  the 
farm  which  served  as  headquarters  of  the  boche  general. 
The  general  M^as  at  dmner  when  they  presented  our 
young  man  to  him.  He  received  him  courteously  and 
spoke  French  to  him,  but  with  difficulty. 

"Sit  down — what  have  you  to  say  to  me?" 
And  turning  toward  the  young  girl  who  served  him, 
he  added,  "Mademoiselle,  tv411  you  place  another  cover 
for  the  lieutenant?     Monsieur,  I  listen." 

"General,  I  am  the  interpreter  for  General  Coutan- 
ceau,  Governor  of  Verdun,  and  have  come  to  present 
his  excuses  for  an  event  that  occurred  to-day. 

"This  morning,  in  course  of  the  attack  at  Consenvoie 
Wood,  a  French  battalion  major  ordered  his  soldiers 
to  cut  the  suspenders  of  all  German  prisoners  they 
might  take  and  to  bring  him  the  trousers,  in  return  for 
wliich  they  would  receive  a  dollar. 

"Matters  happened  this  way:  our  soldiers  cut  num- 
erous suspenders,  removing  quite  a  few  trousers  from 

your  infantrymen 

"The  Governor  General  charges  me  to  tell  you  he 


66  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

deplores  this  act  as  being  unchivalrous  and  to  present 
to  you  his  excuses  and  his  regards." 

The  boche  general  turned  crimson  because  he  had 
misunderstood  de  Marnac  and  when  the  latter  had 
spoken  of  "cut  suspenders"  he  certainly  imagined  some 
enormous  thing 

He  showed  by  his  nervousness  the  lack  of  linguistic 
knowledge  he  possessed.  He  called  an  interpreter  and 
it  was  explained  to  him. 

He  found  then  that  the  reason  for  the  truce  was 
very  decent  and  liis  face  flushed  with  pleasure. 

During  all  this  scene  the  little  girl,  who  incessantly 
busied  herself  about  the  table  and  who  had  not  lost 
a  word,  bit  her  lips  to  keep  from  giggling. 

Dinner  over,  de  Mamac  requested  of  the  German 
general  that  he  be  allowed  to  retire. 

He  got  up  and  the  general  charged  him  with  a  thou- 
sand pleasant  sentiments  for  me 

At  the  moment  when  he  stepped  out  the  door  the 
little  girl  was  lying  in  wait  for  him  and  whispered  in 
his  ear: 

"We  count  on  you  for  Victory !" 

*      *      * 

On  leaving  the  German  general's  headquarters,  his 
eyes  were  bandaged  and  he  and  his  bugler  were  led 
back  into  our  lines. 

Having  reached  his  post,  he  made  out  a  complete 
report  of  what  had  taken  place  and  forwarded  it  to 
me  by  the  usual  channels. 


FIRST  VISIT  TO  VERDUN  67 

Judge  ray  astonishment  on  reading  the  pamphlet. 
I  cried: 

"They  are  absolutely  crazy,  both  of  them?  Ought 
to  be  put  in  a  strait  jacket." 

Then,  I  thought  immediately  of  the  scandal  this 
story  would  stir  up  and  the  consequences  which  would 
follow.     I  was  absolutely  astounded. 

After  having  reflected  for  some  time,  I  sent  this 
report  to  General  Sarrail — without  comment,  naturally, 
and  then  I  awaited  the  tempest. 

The  storm  broke ! — Sarrail  got  me  on  the  telephone 
and  called  me  a  lot  of  pretty  names.  He  was  furious, 
and  I  swear  he  had  reason 

"Your  'protege  is  doing  nicely,  I  compliment 
you ! " 


"Yes,  general,  he  is  completely  crazy " 

"You      will     have      that      fellow      executed     imme- 
diately  " 

"You  forget  the  story  of  the  trousers,  general " 


"It  was  a  fine  idea  of  yours  to  appoint  him  sub- 
lieutenant, I  compliment  you " 

"There  is  also  the  story  of  the  trousers,  general " 


*     * 


General  Sarrail  sent  Sub-Lieutenant  de  Marnac's  re- 
port to  great  headquarters.  Major  Petit  and  de  Mar- 
nac  were  arrested  immediately  and  things  were  going 
entirely  wrong 

I  was  able,  nevertheless,  to  save  the  young  fool,  by 
repeating  this: 

"Yes,  but  there  is  the  story  of  the  trousers!" 


68  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

Finally,  Petit  and  de  Marnac  were  given  thirty  days 
confinement,  and  I  commenced  to  breathe. 

You  believe  my  story  to  be  ended?  Not  at  all!  The 
most  important  episode  was  not  long  in  coming,  to 
my  very  great  confusion. 

January  1,  1915,  at  the  break  of  day  and  in  the 
same  sector  that  the  foregoing  events  transpired,  a 
German  lieutenant  advanced  toward  our  lines  with  a 
white  flag  and  a  bugler. 

The  officer  carried  an  immense  package  under  his 
arm,  which  was  wrapped  in  pasteboard. 

They  bandaged  the  eyes  of  both  and  led  them  into 
our  lines. 

Conducted  to  the  colonel,  the  boche  lieutenant  an- 
nounced he  had  a  communication  to  make  to  me.  They 
reached  me  on  the  telephone  and  I  gave  the  order  to 
send  him  on. 

I  waited  impatiently  for  an  hour,  I  swear,  and  I 
was  far  from  imagining  what  was  coming 

The  3'^oung  man  was  brought  into  my  office ;  he  was 
a  large  and  solid  chap,  who  planted  himself  in  front  of 
me  and  saluted  with  respect. 

"I  listen " 

With  a  strong  Teutonic  accent  he  said  to  me  in 
French : 

"His  Imperial  Highness,  the  German  Crown  Prince, 
commander  of  the  opposing  army,  has  charged  me  to 
bring  j^ou  this  package ! " 

I  slowly  untied  the  string  that  bound  the  package, 


FIRST  VISIT  TO  VERDUN  69 

in  which  I  found  a  framed  photograph  of  the  German 
Crown  Prince  and  in  the  corner  he  had  Hkewise  written 
in  French: 

"To  my  loyal  and  chivalrous  adversary!  William, 
Crown  Prince  of  Germany," 

I  was  absolutely  nonplused  and  I  dismissed  the  boche 
lieutenant,  whom  I  was  on  the  verge  of  cursing. 


"And  the  portrait?"  I  asked  General  Coutan- 
ceau 

"I  forwarded  it  by  the  usual  military  channels. 
General  Sarrail  did  not  fail  to  notice  the  outcome, 
but  I  never  knew  what  became  of  the  picture " 

Turning  toward  me  with  his  rare  smile : 

"You  will  agree  that  this  story  is  a  veritable 
romance !" 


EECOMPENSE,  BEFORE  ORNES, 

October,  1915. 

All  night  we  have  worked  in  No  Man's  Land. 

What  a  night! 

We  had  to  install  certain  wire  entanglements  and 
chevaux  de  frise*  in  front  of  our  trench  of  the  first 
line. 

Happily  the  boche  mitrailleuse  in  front  of  Moulin 
d'Ornes  did  not  fire;  otherwise  we  would  have  been 
riddled  I 

*A  certain  type  of  wire  entanglement. — Tr. 


70  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

My  men  went  at  it  vigorously  and  all  the  work  had 
been  terminated — I  had  divided  them  into  several 
gangs  and  had  recommended  the  new  wire  network  be 
placed  parallel  to  the  old. 

I  went  over  the  entire  line  to  survey  the  work  and  to 
observe  the  patrols  who  protected  the  men  ahead  of 
the  trenches. 

One  of  my  gangs  just  missed  causing  us  a  villain- 
ous adventure!  They  stumbled  on  some  wire,  which 
by  shell-fire  had  been  thrown  out  of  line,  and  follow- 
ing it,  they  had  worked  directly  toward  the  enemy 

They  had  placed  their  cJievaux  de  frise  one  after  the 
other  and  I  stopped  stupefied  on  making  this 
discovery.  I  had  for  a  moment  the  impression  that 
my  men  had  been  picked  up  by  the  boches.  Fortu- 
nately not  a  shot  had  been  heard  and  I  said  to  myself 
it  would  probably  be  possible  to  repair  the  error  com- 
mitted. 

First  it  was  necessary  to  find  my  poilus 

I  followed  the  line  of  chevaux  de  frise,  my  revolver 
in  hand.  Thus  I  arrived  a  few  yards  from  the  boche 
wire  entanglements.  My  men  were  not  there  and  it 
was  likely  they  had  gone  taking  the  material  to  the 
village.  An  hour  later  I  found  them  and  started  them 
again  on  the  work. 

All  the  rest  of  the  night  passed  without  in- 
cident  

At  daybreak  I  brought  my  workers  and  patrols 
back  to  Ornes,  all  satisfied  with  the  work  accom- 
plished.    On  reaching  the  cantonment  I  said  to  them: 


FIRST  VISIT  TO  VERDUN  71 

"M^5  enfants,  you  have  done  well  to-night  and  I  am 
very  much  pleased  with  you " 

One  of  the  poilus  I  had  known  for  a  long  time,  re- 
plied : 

"Can  I  ask  you  a  favor,  lieutenant?" 

"Certainly." 

"Since  you  are  pleased  with  us,  we  all  would  like  to 
have  god-mothers !" 

"It  is  understood — you  will  have  them!" 

That  is  how  the  squad  from  Ornes  got  a  very  seri- 
ous contingent  of  god-mothers  to  the  great  happiness 
of  my  poilus,  who  received  that  winter  woolen  socks 
and  warm  slippers! 


CHAPTER  FIVE 
EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH 


This  period  of  the  author*s  life  begins  during  the 
first  days  of  October,  1915,  and  ends  on  the  eve  of  the 
battle  of  Verdun,  February  20,  1916. 

He  directed  certain  works  in  the  different  sectors  of 
the  Verdun  front,  at  Eparges,  at  Calonne  Trench,  in 
the  Hauts-de-Meuse,  at  Chevaliers  Wood,  at  Ornes,  at 
Forges  and  Bethincourt,  at  Corbeaux  Wood,  etc. 

He  remained  a  greater  part  of  the  time  at  Eparges, 
•which  was  then  the  bloodiest  sector  on  the  front.  The 
episodes  in  mining  warfare  left  an  impression  of  hor- 
ror with  those  who  were  lucky  enough  to  survive. 


Eparges  Mill  recalls  the  ruins  of  some  ancient  Abbey. 


w 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

THE    DAY    OF    MY    ARRIVAL,    EPARGES. 

October  7,  1915. 

HEN  I  come  here  for  the  first  time  I  cannot 
help  but  feel  that  I  will  pass  the  unhappiest 
moments  of  my  life 

Upon  arriving  at  Calonne  trench  and  descending 
toward  Mesnil-sur-les-Cotes,  I  perceive  Eparges  on  the 
right.  With  its*  mine  craters,  its  smoke,  this  barren 
hill,  tinted  red,  appears  like  a  kind  of  Stromboli 

The  road  all  the  way  to  Longeau  is  simply  ex- 
quisite. Eparges  mill,  demolished  almost  completely, 
and  overgrown  with  grass  already  recalls  the  ruins  of 
some   ancient   abbey. 

I  have  traversed  the  length  of  the  sector  with  a 
friend — it  is  very  active  to-day.  The  boches,  at  break 
of  day,  exploded  four  mines  simultaneously.  A  sec- 
tion of  the  trench  is  completely  demolished  and  a  hun- 
dred men  have  been  killed 

We  are  on  the  verge  of  contact  with  the  enemy  and 
it  is  necessary  to  crouch  over  dead  bodies  and  sand- 
bags to  observe  what  is  transpiring  in  front  of  us 

75 


76  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


GUNTHER    DUGOUT,    THE    CORRUGATED    IRON,    THE    RATS, 
THE   MAP,   THE   LETTERS.       EPARGES. 

November,  1915. 

At  the  beginning  our  shelter  was  nothing  more  or 
less  than  a  mole  hole. 

Little  by  little  it  is-  becoming  habitable.  The  walls 
have  been  boarded  and  the  ceiling  made  of  corrugated 
iron. 

A  long,  large,  white  table,  with  benches .    How 

many  of  us  will  no  longer  sit  there !  Everyone  found 
in  this  little  space  is  loved  like  a  brother. 

On  the  board  wall  which  separates  the  room  from 
our  sleeping  quarters,  which  is  arranged  like  a  sleep- 
ing-car, there  is  a  map  of  Alsace-Lorraine.  Gunther, 
with  his  big  fist,  has  traced  an  arrow  in  ink,  which 
points  from  Eparges  to  Strasbourg.     He  has  written: 

"The  hearts  and  aspirations  of  the  14th  Company 
of  the  15th  Corps  point  this  way !" 


At  night  the  rats,  with  an  unseasonable  boldness, 
run  up  and  down  between  the  corrugated  iron  and  the 
roof.  One  doesn't  know  if  they're  playing  or  fighting. 
These  gallops  on  the  metal  awake  us  with  a  start. 

A  flash  from  my  electric  lamp  and  I  discover  an 
immense  rat  tearing  across  the  room  with  a  telephone 
message  sent  to  me  at  the  moment  I  retired. 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH        77 

Menard  and  Foulu  prepare  the  evening  meal  before 
the  arrival  of  the  post-sergeant.  The  little  fireplace 
at  the  side  blazes  cheerfully  and  fills  the  dugout  with 
the  pleasant  odor  of  burning  wood. 

Happiness  is  his  who  can  relax  completely  after  a 
rough  day 

The  post-sergeant  arrives  drenched,  his  package  of 
letters  and  newspapers  carefully  wrapped.  He  seems 
ill  at  ease  as  if  he  finds  himself  in  a  palace. 

"Menard,  give  your  friend  a  quart  of  pmard" 

The  paquet  of  letters'  for  Captain  Gunther  is  al- 
ways very  large.     Many  of  them  commence  like  this: 

"I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for 
having  given  us  details  of  the  death  of  our  boy.  We 
are  proud  of  him." 

Then  there  are  others  cheerful  enough,  others  very 
sad. 

I  found  a  short  while  ago  some  of  the  last  wild 
flowers,  while  returning  from  the  front  line.  I  have 
slipped  them  into  my  letters  that  are  about  to  go. 
Oh!  you  who  will  receive  these  flowers  will  never  know 
what  one  can  suffer  here ! 


THE    FILTH,    EPARGES, 

November,  1915. 

Deep    in     Eparges     mud,     sixty     yards     from     the 
enemy 


"Look   here,   my   friend,   you   know   very    well   it 
forbidden  to  wrap  the  legs  in  sandbags " 


IS 


78  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


"General,  it's  for  the  filtli- 


"These   sandbags    cost    the   Government   more    than 

ten  sous  a  piece " 

"General,  it's  for  the  filth " 


"It  is  not  permitted  to  waste  material  destined  for 
the  trenches." 

"General,  it's  for  the  filth " 

"For  what?" 

"The  filth." 

"The  filth?" 

"Ah !  general,  it  is  all  that  you  see  here :  the  mud, 
the  dirt,  the  bugs,  with  trampled  boxes  of  singe  and 
sardines  under  foot.  This  damned  soil,  which — which 
smells  bad — general,  all  this  is  filth  !"* 


THE   RETURN    OF   ST.   ANDRE,   EPARGES, 

November,  1915. 

"Good  morning,  St.  Andre — that  j^ou?  Come  in, 
mon  petit,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again." 

"Yes,  captain,  here  I  am." 

It  is  at  Eparges,  during  the  month  of  November, 
1915.  We  are  in  Captain  Gunther's  dugout,  who 
commands  the  14th  Company,  15th  Corps  of  En- 
gineers. 

The  weather  is  horrible.  Outside  the  rain  falls  in- 
cessantly. The  mud,  the  mud,  the  rotten,  cursed  mud  is 
everywhere. 

*  Gadoue. — Tr. 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH    79 

Our  shelter  is  damp.  Water  filters  through  the 
board  walls  and  falls  in  large  drops.  A  dim  candle 
light.     The  sector  is  very  quiet. 

St.  Andre  stands  in  the  threshhold.  He  is  covered 
with  mud  from  head  to  foot.  What  a  trip  it  is  to  get 
here!  His  stalwart  face  is  dripping  with  rain;  this 
brave  young  lad  of  nineteen  radiates  health  and  good 
nature. 

"Did  3'ou  spend  a  nice  vacation.'"' 

"Not  very  good,  captain." 

"Not  very  good.'*     Where  did  you  go.?" 

"To  Rennes." 

"Did  they  not  welcome  you  as  they  should.?" 

"No,  captain,  they  treated  me  like  a  slacker.  They 
said,  'What!  not  wounded  or  killed — you're  not  a  real 
poilur  " 

"But,  mon  petit,  you  should  have  said  you  came  from 
Eparges,  the  wickedest  sector  along  the  front." 

"No  chance  to  talk  with  those  people.  Our  con- 
versation ended  in  blows." 

"At  least,  you  have  done  your  bit  for  France  by  giv- 
ing her  'little  St.  Andre's,'  poilus  and  sturdy  like  your- 
self.?" 

"Yes,  captain,  I'm  not  married — but  I've  got  two 
sons." 

"You  are  not  married?  You  are  going  to  marry 
her  right  away,  my  boy.  You  could  easily  have  an 
accident  here,  and  you  would  not  embarrass  your  little 
friend " 


"That's  true,  captain " 

"I  am  going  to  give  you  two  days'  vacation  so  you 


80  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

can  marry  her,  but  I  will  have  to  get  the  certificate 

from  the  mayor." 

"Captain — I  want  to  tell  you — I  would  rather  marry 

by  proxy." 

"By  proxy  !    That's  a  strange  idea — and  why .?" 
"Because  then  it  would  only  be  good  for  the  duration 

of  the  war." 


THE    PASSWORD,    DIEUE-SUU-MEUSE^ 

November,  1915. 

It  is  night — I  return  in  a  covered  automobile  with 
Colonel  d'Auriac.  At  the  road  which  crosses  that  to 
St.  Mihiel,  a  sentinel  waves  his  lantern — the  machine 
stops. 

"The  password.?" 

"Marne !" 

"That's  not  it !" 

"What !  That's  not  it?  Call  the  head  of  the  post," 
said  the  colonel  nervously. 

In  a  few  moments  that  seemed  long  enough  to  us, 
the  poUu  brought  the  head  of  the  post,  who  dragged 
his  feet  as  if  half  asleep. 

"The  password?" 

"Marne !" 

"Pass !" 

"Wait!  How  is  this,  sergeant,  when  I  give  the 
word  to  the  sentry,  he  does  not  let  me  pass  through; 
on  the  other  hand  when  I  give  it  to  you,  you  permit 
me  to  continue?" 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH    81 

"Well,  you  see,  colonel,  neither  the  sentry  or  myself 
know  the  password!" 


AT  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF  AUSTERLITZ,  EPARGES. 

December  1,  1915. 

It  is  the  eve  of  Austerlitz.  To-night  and  to-morrow 
we  are  going  to  celebrate  the  memory  of  our  fore- 
fathers, the  Emperor's  Old  Guard,  who  will  shake  in 
their  graves  with  joy. 

It  is  snowing.  The  night  is  bright  with  moon.  Rifle 
shots  resound  loudly  in  the  darkness.  From  time  to 
time,  are  exchanged  by  one  and  then  the  other,  rounds 
of  machine-gun  fire  at  fleeing  shadows  during  the  slow 
descent  of  star-shell. 

I  arrive  from  Verdun  and  my  automobile  is  filled 
with  everything  I  could  hastily  collect  in  the  stores. 
We  have  a  basket  of  oysters,  fine  white  bread  and  fresh 
butter 

The  florist  in  Verdun,  a  big  fellow,  always  restless 
and  uneasy,  who  will  foretell  the  worst  misfortunes 
until  the  end  of  his  life,  has  given  me  an  armful  of 
roses  and  mimosas,  that  will  look  pretty  there. 

There  will  be  cigars  for  our  friends  and  for  our 
poilus,  and  champagne,  naturally 

We  have  been  arranging  for  this  little  fete  for  a 
long  time;  there  will  be  quite  a  lot  of  us:  thirteen  or 
fourteen  infantrymen,  sappers,  artillerists,  all  old 
habitues  of  the  sector. 

We  are  taking  with  us  all  those  who  have  been  sent 


82  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

back  for  rest.  When  we  pass  Mont-sur-les-Cotes,  the 
sentinel  stops  and  becomes  pensive  at  seeing  seven  or 
eight  officers  piled  together  in  the  little  machine.  It 
is  terribly  crowded.  What  loud  bursts  of  laughter! 
How  wonderful  life  is  among  young  men  of  the  same 
age  who  have  made  the  supreme  sacrifice  of  their  exist- 
ence and  know  the  least  of  that  fugitive  joy  that  falls 
to  a  soldier's  lot. 

Each  one  brings  something  to  the  dinner,  some  have 
yate  de  foie  gras,  others  yetits  pais,  and  pastry. 

How  late  it  was  when  our  automobile  brought  us 
a  half-mile  from  the  first  line — this  is  what  caused  a 
reprimand  from  the  "general  staff"  some  days  later! 

The  bodies  are  very  quiet:  not  a  rifle  shot,  not  a 
cannon  shot.  The  St.  Remy  searchlight  which  gen- 
erally plays  on  the  Eparges  road  is  out  to-night. 

We  have  climbed  Eparges  hill — we  pass  through  the 
ruins  of  the  village  and  they  are  silhouetted  like 
Christmas  eve  decorations.  The  enemy  is  very  near 
to  us  and  it  is  drole  to  think  we  have  scaled  the  height 
to  pass  an  evening,  a  real  live  pleasure  party. 

When  we  arrive  finally  at  Captain  Gunther's  dugout, 
there  are  cries  of  joy —  All  his  staff  assist  us  with 
the  numerous  packages.  The  brave  Menard,  with  his 
commanding  presence,  his  flowing  mustache  and  kindly 
eyes,  spares  no  pains  to  see  that  we  are  settled. 

Our  dugout  has  become  quite  comfortable  since  the 
installation  of  electric  lights.  Everything  is  perfect; 
there  is  not  a  hitch. 

It  is  so  crowded,  elbow  to  elbow,  that  we  throw  off 
pur  tunics. 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH        83 

What  a  dinner!  The  oysters  and  champagne  are 
the  best.  Oyster  forks  in  this  region  made  us  all 
think —  Menard  had  a  Prince  Albert  coat  on  over  his 
uniform.     Where  did  he  get  it?     Mystery! 

There  is  singing,  laughing.  They  become  grave 
when  speaking  of  the  comrades  who  are  no  more 

From  time  to  time  the  ruffled  form  of  one  of  our 
poilus  passes  out  the  door.  They  know  we  have  not 
forgotten  them.  They  carry  a  bottle,  a  pate,  or  a 
box  of  cigars — and  so  the  fete  extends  even  to  the 
advanced  posts  of  the  first  line. 

From  the  listening  post  to-morrow  they  will  throw 
oyster  shells  at  German  heads.  What  faces  they  will 
make.  Surely  they  will  place  them  in  their  geological 
museum  at  Berlin. 

The  flowers  on  the  table,  a  fantasy  of  color,  cause 
some  to  weep  with  emotion.  We  have  the  most  pro- 
found respect  for  them :  "How  come  you  here  in  the 
center  of  death  and  destruction — you  come  to  us  from 
the  warm,  beautiful  countryside " 

I  glance  at  my  friends,  Berthet,  Blanc,  Grabinski, 
the  brave  Grab,  Flament,  the  doctor,  and  the  staunch 
face  of  my  captain 

We  speak  of  the  great  Emperor  and  compare  our 
army  with  his —  How  proud  he  would  be  of  our  poilus! 
Wliat  would  he  have  done  if  he  had  had  airplanes.'' 

The  time  for  champagne  has  come;  Gunther  drinks 
to  all :  the  infantry,  artillery,  engineers,  and  the  absent 
comrades.  His  voice  trembles  with  emotion —  "High 
Hearts !  The  road  will  be  yet  long.  France  has  her 
eyes  on  us !    Our  lives  belong  to  her.    We  will  be  happy 


84  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

to  give  them.  If  we  are  killed  our  childron  will  be 
proud  of  us !" 

In  my  turn,  I  speak  to  them  of  the  Eparges —  At 
this  anniversary  I  feel  the  blood  of  my  ancestors 
tingling  in  my  veins,  because  I  am  a  great  grandson  of  a 
veteran  of  the  First  Empire. 

I  drink  to  Eparges,  for  each  one  of  its  letters  is  the 
beginning  of  a  word  representing  the  military  virtues 
we  must  practice  here: 

Encouragement. 

Perseverance. 

Ardor. 

Resolution. 

Greatness. 

Energy. 

Sublimity. 

*      *      * 

Champagne  and  liquor  have  their  effect — now  the 
music  commences ! 

First  the  "Marseillaise"  rings  out.  Could  the  boches 
have  heard  us  from  the  bottom  of  their  pits  they  would 
realize  we  were  all  ready  to  conquer  or  to  die. 

Then  each  one  sings  liis  little  chanson — these  pretty 
French  songs  full  of  verve  and  spirit.  How  odd  it  is 
to  hear  sung  "The  Marriage  of  Mademoiselle  Fallieres," 
here  in  this  dugout,  mute  witness  to  so  much  drama 

The  hour  to  separate  has  come.  Each  must  take 
up  his  duties,  save  those  who  return  to  the  rear. 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH    85 

It  is  midnight — and  it  is  clear  and  calm. 

I  leave  with  Captain  Gunther  to  go  into  the  first 
line.  It  is  well  that  our  pmlus  see  that  we  are  at  their 
side — are  they  not  our  brothers?  We  wish  as  well  to 
know  what  the  boches  are  doing! 

We  enter  a  mine  gallery  where  the  work  goes  on 
actively.  Our  sappers  are  digging  fast  for  the  enemy 
is  working  feverislily  also.  It  is  he  who  explodes  it 
first — as  usual ! 

"They  are  ahead  of  us — they're  digging  their  hole," 
said  one  of  Grenet's  men. 

He  spoke  with  calm  and  indifference. 

On  the  menaced  part  of  tlie  front  the  number  of 
men  has  been  lessened,  save  only  in  the  little  posts,  where 
they  wait  events  stoically. 

Coming  outside,  a  poilu,  with  an  undefinable  accent, 

says  : 

"Then  they're  going  to  spring  it  to-night.?" 

"Who  told  you  that  story.?" 

"Well,  there's  no  need  in  hiding  it — I'm  not  blind 
and  I  know  what  it  means  to  go  back  there —  On  a 
night  hke  this  it  wouldn't  bother  me  a  bit  to  be  shot 
like  an  arrow  up  to  the  stars !" 

Our  rounds  are  finished.  We  can  go  back  to  our 
dugout  and  profit  by  the  hours  of  quiet  to  get  much 
needed  rest. 

In  going  into  Sap  13  again,  I  look  up  at  the  heavens. 
My  brain  is  so  tired  that  I  seem  to  see  a  cortege  of 
soldiers.  Are  they  the  Old  Guard  and  our  poilus,  our 
brave  poilus?  Yes,  decidedly,  the  Old  Guard  is  feast- 
ing up  there,  the  Old  Guard  of  Austerlitz 


86  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

The  earth,  in  this  clear  and  luminous  night,  appears 
in  bold  relief  and  one  sees  between  the  torn  tree  trunks, 
arms  reaching  out  of  the  ground,  arms  lifted  to  the 
German  heaven,  and  our  o^vn  dead  fallen  on  this  cursed 
soil  of  the  Eparges — they  seem  to  contemplate  the 
great  fete  up  there 

*     *     * 

It  is  the  morrow. 

What  horrible  weather !  It  is  raining  in  torrents. 
Everything  is  soaked.  Again  we  shall  have  to  flounder 
about  in  mud  up  to  the  middle. 

However,  it  is  impossible  to  complain  of  jour  fix 
when  you  have  flowers  in  your  dugout ! 

During  the  morning  a  heavy  detonation  shakes  the 
entire  hill.  It  is  these  German  pigs,  decidedly,  who 
have  exploded  the  first  one.  They  choose  their  time 
well. 

Everyone  dashes  down  to  lend  a  hand  to  our  com- 
rades who  are  on  duty.  We  shall  have  to  reestablish 
the  trench  and  evacuate  the  wounded. 

If  3'ou  attempt  to  go  fast  you  get  nowhere.  The 
mud  glues  itself  to  your  feet.     The  ground  smells  bad. 

But  it  was  not  serious,  only  a  warning,  and  soon  I 
am  back  in  the  dugout,  dripping  from  the  neck  do^vn. 
It  is  the  time  to  write. 

I  am  alone  with  Cadet  Flament,  who,  stripped  of 
his  tunic  and  wearing  his  blue  jersey,  has  rather  the 
air  of  a  collegian.  He  is,  however,  a  brave  young  fel- 
low, our  little  Flament 

"Say,  Flament,  you  had  better  write  a  letter  home. 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH   87 

It  is  three  weeks  now  since  you  have  given  them  any 
news." 

"You're  right,  lieutenant." 

And  little  Flamcnt  began  at  once  to  write  a  long 
letter  to  his  mother.  She  must  be  proud  of  her  son. 
He  is  the  only  child.  She  lives  at  Chateau-Thierry. 
But  what  uneasiness,  knowing  he  is  at  Epargcs 

After  having  written  the  first  letter,  Flament  writes 
the  second.  This  one  also  is  to  a  woman!  The  smile 
on  his  lips  when  he  writes  leads  me  to  bcheve  that  this 
young  rascal  has  a  little  friend  or  a  fiancee 

I  am  certain  of  it  when  I  see  him  place  in  a  little 
box  an  aluminum  ring  which  he  has  made  himself,  and 
some  flowers  from  the  Eparges,  mingled  with  those  we 
had  at  our  banquet  last  night 

"Lieutenant,  when  you  go  down  to-night,  it  will  be 
very  kind  of  you,  if  you  will  take  these  letters  and  this 
little  package " 

"Gladly,  mon  petit,"  and  I  placed  in  my  pocket,  the 
letter  for  his  mother,  the  one  for  the  "other,"  and  the 
little  box  destined  for  her  also. 

Flament  begins  to  put  on  his  shoes  which  he  has 
vainly  tried  to  dry  out — .  It  will  be  necessary  to  keep 
them  in  the  stove  for  three  days  to  obtain  this  result. 

Without  question  he  has  written  to  the  woman  he 
loves — he  grumbles  at  the  weather,  the  rain,  at  the 
cursed  mud,  at  the  boches 

Ah !  what  wouldn't  he  give  to  pay  those  boches  back 
for  having  began  this  holocaust 

Suddenly  an  explosion,  more  violent  than  the  one 
before,  shook  us  in  our  chairs. 


88  A  BLUE  DE\TL  OF  FRANCE 

It  is  they  this  time  who  have  sprung  the  mine.  There 
will  be  many  casualties  ! 

We  jumped  up  and  left  the  dugout. 

It  was  raining;  but  at  the  same  moment  the  can- 
nonade raged.  French  and  German  shells  tore  through 
the  air  with  frightful  screams,  an  acrid  smoke  hung 
between  Montgirmont  and  Eparges,  machine-guns 
kicked  up  a  deafening  tumult — you  damned  coffee-mills 
( — va! 

Flament  preceded  me — he  walked  with  his  head  high. 
How  good-looking  he  is  with  his  Tam  O'Shanter 
cocked  over  one  ear  in  the  midst  of  bursting  projectiles, 
face  to  the  enemy 


A  77  hits  him  squarely,  carrying  away  his  thigh  and 
half  of  his  face 

My  sergeant  and  two  of  his  sappers  collect  the 
pieces.  They  carry  this  poor  corpse,  still  heaving  and 
stained  with  mud,  into  our  Httle  wooden  chapel  a  few 
steps  away 


An  hour  later,  the  flurry  being  over,  I  go  again  to 
see  him  with  LeBlond.  I  have  taken  the  flowers  of 
the  night  before  and  placed  them  respectfully  on  his 
breast 

Poor  young  chap!  He  is  unrecognizable.  Can  this 
be  the  happy  little  fellow  of  the  night  before? 

On  leaving  the  chapel,  I  notice  that  LeBlond  is  ter- 
ribly affected  and  I  say  nothing  to  him.     We  arrive 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH    89 

at  the  dugout  where  our  brave  captain,  covered  with 
mud,  sobs  hke  a  child  for  his  lost  friend • 

Taking  LeBlond  by  the  arm,  I  say : 

"Mon  vieux,  you  are  down-hearted — go  with  me 
along  the  whole  first  line — we  have  our  dead  to  avenge ! 
we  must  not  weep  for  them " 


During  the  night  LeBlond  and  I  return  to  Verdun. 

Before  retiring  I  reach  in  my  pockets  to  empty  them. 

Two  letters   and   a  little  box   rest   in  my   fingers.      I 

think  a  long  time  of  these  souvenirs  of  death 

After  hesitating  some  moments,  I  say  to  my  friend: 
"Decidedly,  I  will  send  them  to-morrow.     These  poor 

people  will  not  learn  too  soon  the  unhappiness  they 

bring !" 


THE   PHILOSOPHICAL    POILU.       EPARGES. 

December,  1915. 

You  will  not  believe  me,  but  this  morning  at  break 
of  day,  we  found  ourselves  in  mud  up  to  our  middle ! 

In  the  trenches  and  in  the  hoyaux*  it  was  always  the 
same  thing — the  sector  was  completely  calm.  Parhleu! 
the  others  in  front  of  us  must  suffer  exactly  the  same 
hardships. 

I  am  numbed !  For  four  days  I  have  been  struggling 
in  this  damned  mud. 

Woevre  plain  is  thick  with  mist  this  morning  and 

*Cominunicating  trench. — Tr. 


90 


A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


Champion,  seen  from  up  there,  resembles  one  of  these 
pasteboard  villages  over  which  a  miscreant  youngster 
has  poured  water, 

I  sense  a  feehng  of  real  joy,  however,  on  seeing  the 
first  glimmerings  of  day,  because  to-night  we  shall  be 
relieved 

I  descend  into  "Precaution  Trench,"  sweeping  into 
a  river  of  mud,  and  find  myself  nose  to  nose,  at  the 
crossing  of  Sap  8,  with  one  of  my  poilus. 

On  seeing  me  he  cannot  refrain  from  laughing. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?" 

"Lieutenant,  what  a  sight  you  are !  You've  got  mud 
in  your  hair,  and  mud  on  your  eyeglass — you  ought 
to  look  in  a  mirror !" 

"Listen,  mon  petit,  it  is  not  necessary  to  speak  of 
it,  because  if  one  looks  around  himself  here,  he  always 
ends  up  by  finding  someone  very  unhappy " 

"Very  true,  lieutenant,  because  instead  of  being  in 
a  lot  of  mud  we  could  easily  find  ourselves  up  to  our 
necks  in  something  a  whole  lot  worse!" 

*      *      * 

That  night  I  am  in  the  home  of  M.  and  Mme.  Louis 
at  Verdun. 

The  good  woman  has  a  great  wood  fire  going — 
May  God  bless  her! 

I  am  so  numb  with  cold  that  I  cannot  undress — 
my  shirt  is  frozen  to  my  back 

This  good  and  sweet  creature  assists  me  and,  hear- 
ing my  teeth  chatter,  weeps  softly  and  murmurs : 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH    91 

"What  would  his  poor  mother  say  if  she  saw  him 
in  this  condition " 


THE  RELIGIOUS  POILU,  EPARGES, 

December,  1915. 

Accompanied  by  one  of  my  poilus,  I  ran  across  the 

chaplain  of  the  Regiment  of  Infantry,  in  front 

of  the  P.  C*  of  the  colonel. 

We  are  both  in  a  sorry  plight. 

The  preceding  days  have  been  such  an  accumulation 
of  physical  and  moral  misery,  that  I  could  not  help 
but  say  to  the  priest: 

"Father,  I  feel  death  hovering  around  me — hear  my 
confession !" 

"Confess  you  here?  Do  not  think  of  it.  You  make 
your  own  hell  on  earth  in  the  Eparges.  I  will  pray 
for  you.  And  you,  poilu,  he  added,  turning  toward  my 
sapper,  to  what  religion  do  you  belong?" 

"I  belong  to  that  which  looks  God  straight  in  the 
eyes !" 

THE  MEN  OF  BRONZE,  EPARGES, 

December,  1915. 

We  have  just  put  in  some  frightful  days  up  there. 
The  mud,  the  horrible  mud,  is  infinitely  more  terrible 
than  any  enemy  shells. 

It  is  relief  day ! 

*  Commanding  Post. — Tr. 


92  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

Wliat  luck  to  end  this  nightmare.  One  is  sad,  how- 
ever, for  the  others  who  come  to  take  your  place. 

The  Eparges  soil  is  red — our  uniforms  of  horizon 
blue,  dirty  and  covered  with  this  mud,  appear  tinted 
with  blood. 

A  sad  array.  We  all  have  a  dejected  mien.  Several 
of  us  will  not  come  back. 

Four  poilus  are  carrying  one  of  our  wounded.  They 
advance  carefully.  Night  has  fallen  and  the  lingering 
red  shadows  disappear  from  the  heavens,  one  after  the 
other,  darkening  our  march. 

We  meet  General  Renaux,  commanding  the  Division, 
who  comes  to  inspect  the  sector. 

Contemplating  us  dolefully,  he  said : 

"My  poor  children,  what  a  state  you  are  in !" 

"General,"  replied  a  poilu,  straightening,  "that  is 
nothing.     It  is  we— the  men  of  BRONZE !" 


MAJOR  HELY's   visit,   EPARGES. 

December,  1915. 

It  is  reception  day,  to-day.  Major  Hely  of  the 
General  Staff,  after  having  inspected  the  sector,  will 
dine  with  us. 

And  so,  there  are  fresh  flowers  on  the  table — chicken 
and  champagne. 

A  ray  of  sun  is  equally  in  the  party.  What  luck ! 
The  bodies  are  quiet. 

It  is  the  end  of  the  dinner. 

Menard    brings    the   jus,    excellent   coflfee    which   he 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH   93 

pours  in  the  cups.  The  only  coflFee  spoon  makes  the 
rounds  of  the  table.  Menard  also  deposits  a  dusty 
bottle  which  we  all  regard  in  silence  but  with  respect. 

Captain  Gunther  himself  will  pour  the  precious 
liquor  in  the  little  glasses 

Major  Hely  sips  this  plum  nectar  like  a  connoisseur. 
He  sniffs  the  brandy  and  it  causes  him  to  smack  his 
lips 

"Ah !  Gunther,  where  did  you  unearth  this  marvelous 
stuff?" 

"In  a  cellar  of  the  village,  under  the  corpse  of  an 
old  woman." 


PRECAUTION   TRENCH,   EPARGES. 

December,  1915. 

Precaution  Trench  leaves  a  memory  of  horror  with 
all  those  who  have  frequented  it — .  There  is  such  an 
accumulation  of  German  and  French  corpses ;  all  hud- 
dled together,  that  one  feels  a  swelling  of  the  heart  if 
one  remains  for  any  length  of  time  in  this  charnel- 
house 

But  we  have  to  put  the  trench  in  condition.  With 
sweeps  of  the  shovel  human  arms  and  legs  are  dismem- 
bered so  that  free  passage  may  not  be  blocked.  Legs 
and  bodies  are,  above  all,  difficult  to  disentangle 

At  night,  when  the  earth  breathes,  our  men  faint 
occasionally,  and  it  is  necessary  to  give  them  menthol- 
alcohol  on  bits  of  sugar 

"Look,  mon  vieux,  at  that  rotting  breast " 


94  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

"It's  possible  a  woman,  dearly  loved,  has  been  tightly 
pressed  against  that  breast  there!" 

"This  man  has  been  reported  missing — he  still  wears 
his  identification  tag " 

"Perhaps  they  are  waiting  at  home  for  him — they 
are  always  hoping,  without  doubt " 

"Him?  Ough!  he's  shot  to  hell — but — what  about 
her?" 


you're   a   slacker  !   EPARGES, 

December,  1915. 

Do  you  believe  all  those  who  have  survived  this 
horrible  December  winter,  at  Eparges,  are  martyrs? 
Not  at  all.     Listen  to  what  I  heard  this  morning. 

Two  sapper-miners  were  arguing  and  this  is  what 
took  place: 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  be  always  in  F  gallery 
— it  won't  be  blown  up  by  the  enemy  for  two  months. 
It's  always  the  same  with  you  fellows  who  go  in  for 
this  kind  of  fighting 

"Desire,  you're  nothing  but  a  slacker!" 

A   WALK    IN    THE    FOG,    CALONNE    TRENCH, 

December,  1915. 
There  is  a  thick,  heavy  fog  here  this  morning- 


One   can    stand   on  the   parapet,   where,   two   hours 
afterwards,  he  would  be  pierced  like  a  sieve. 

It  gives  one  a  very  curious  sensation  to  go  several 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH    95 

steps  in  front  of  the  trench,  over  the  snow,  to  recon- 
noitre the  terrain  ahead  of  us. 

And'  it  is  quite  different  to  inspect  this  sombre  place 
which  we  always  see  through  a  periscope,  not  knowing 
what  it  really  is. 

Dead  boughs  and  leaves  crackle  under  our  feet  while 
we  move  with  care.  There  is  a  zig-zag  path  in  the 
wire  entanglement  right  in  front  of  us 

In  a  hollow  in  the  terrain  we  discover  a  German 
corpse,  or  more  precisely,  a  skeleton  dressed  in  an 
infantryman's  uniform,  a  rusty  rifle  at  his  side — that 
is  the  thing  in  question. 

The  body  must  have  been  there  a  long  time 

THE    POILU    BOULEVARDIER. 

December,  1915. 

Day  has  not  yet  come — the  weather  is  misty,  and 
the  rain  has  stopped.  From  time  to  time  a  rifle 
shot 

They  are  working  lively  to  set  a  wire  entanglement 
between  the  line  of  craters  and  a  support  trench.  It 
ha&  got  to  be  done  fast  because  daybreak  will  soon 
be  here.  The  men  sense  the  completion  of  the  task, 
and  hurry  to  finish  it.  They  joke  and  seem  to  forget 
they  are  at  a  place  the  worst  on  the  whole  front. 

The  quiet  astonishes  them;  neither  of  them  find  it 
natural 

Suddenly  a  heavy  explosion — a  great  trembling  and 
a  large  spout  of  earth  rises  in  the  air  a  hundred  yards 
from  us 


96  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

"There   it  is — a  boche   camouflet!"* 

At  the  same  moment  the  well-known  serenade — 
from  all  sides-  comes  a  rain  of  projectiles:  minnen- 
werfer,  shells  and'  bullets.  A  man,  wounded,  cries  like 
an  infant  with  its  throat  cut 

Expecting  an  attack,  I  shout  to  my  poilus: 

"Attention!  keep  your  eyes  open!" 

Corporal  Poulet  replied  with  an  inexplicable  accent: 

"That's  all  right;  as  long  as  your  eyeglass  is  not 
broken,  everything  will  go  well!" 


A    POILU    WEEPS,    CALONNE    TRENCH. 

December,  1915. 

A  beautiful  day — but  how   cold  it  is ! 

From  the  German  lines  as  well  as-  our  own,  white 
smoke  curls  up  from  wood  fires. 

The  hour  at  which  the  sector  becomes  active  has  not 
arrived,  and  I  have  plenty  of  time  to  make  the  rounds 
of  the  first  line  to  keep  warm. 

Poor  little  hill!     It  is  barren! 

It  has  been  well  named:  "the  lobster's  claw."  Cer- 
tainly it  has  the  form  and  color.  The  trees  are 
cracked  or  shattered  clear  to  the  roots,  because  tons 
of  projectiles  have  fallen  on  it. 

The  view  from  this  dominating  position  is  really 
exquisite ! 

In  front  of  me  are  the  heights  of  the  Meuse,  to  the 

*  Counter-mining.  When  an  enemy  mine  is  being  dug,  a 
camouflet  destroys  it  before  completion. — Tr. 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH         97 

left  is  Longcau  valley,  with  the  village  of  Epargcs  in 
the  bottom  and  the  hills  of  Montgirmont,  Eparges  and 
Hures  which  rise  on  the  other  side. 

The  hills  this  morning  as-sume  the  unforeseen  aspect 
of  Mediterranean  imagery,  red  and  blue,  a  land  of 
silence,  as  if  one  would  find  Samos  and  Ephesus  close 

by. 

I  arrive  at  a  machine-gunner's  post — the  man  is 
alone,  his  comrade  must  be  only  a  few  steps  away 
from  him.      He  is   crying! 

He  was  seated  on  the  ground,  his  chin  in  his-  knees. 
Unshaven,  unkempt,  he  had  such  a  pitiable  face  that 
I  sat  down  at  his  side 

He  was  visibly  embarrassed  and  annoyed  at  having 
been  taken  by  surprise  with  his  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"Good  morning,  mon  vieux!" 

"Good  morning,  lieutenant " 

"How  damned  cold  it  is  this  morning." 

"Oh!  ye& " 

"What's   the   matter?     Is   there  anything  wrong?" 

*'Nothing,  I  assure  you " 

*'You  can  talk  to  me  like  a  brother."  He  did  not 
reply. 

"I'm  hungry !  It  won't  bother  you  if  I  have  some- 
thing to  eat  here — sardines,  a  box  of  singe  and  some 
pinard — you'll  have  a  portion?" 

At  the  end  of  a  few  moments  we  were  the  best 
friends  in  the  world.  I  knew  his  name,  where  he  was 
from  and  what  he  had  done  in  the  campaign. 

"Why  were  you  crying  a  moment  ago  when  I  came 
up  on  you?     You  are  not  a  man  to  be  afraid  in  the 


98  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

Calonne  Trench,  because  you  are  brave — I  can  read  it 
in  your  eyes " 

"I'm  going  to  tell  you.  I  went  back  for  my  first 
vacation.  I  had  not  told  my  wife  because  I  wanted  to 
surprise  her  and  the  youngster 

"When  I  arrived  at  home,  that  night,  the  miser- 
able  " 

"Stop,  mon  petit,  I  understand.   What  did  you  do.?" 

"I  thought  at  first  to  kill  both  of  them.  But  I 
simply  turned  away  from  the  door — and — I  came  back 
to  rejoin  my  comrades " 


THE    THREE    JURORS      CROSSROADS,    CALONNE    TREi^^CH, 

January,  1916. 

LeBlond  is  going  to  meet  me  to-night  at  the  "Three 
Jurors'  Crossroads !" 

Here  there  is  an  important  storehouse  belonging  to 
the  Engineers,  where  materials  are  kept,  destined  to 
supply  the  sector.  There  is,  above  all,  a  hut  where  I 
go  to  seek  shelter.  Since  morning  an  icy  rain  has  been 
falling  and  I'm  glad  to  be  able  to  find  a  dry  spot. 

I  go  into  the  meager  room,  feebly  lighted  by  a  smok- 
ing lamp.  What  luck !  The  warmth  is  soothing  and 
I  can  dry  myself 

On  the  table  is  a  set  of  chessmen! 

"Who  pla3^s  chess  here?" 

"I  do,"  replied  the  head  of  the  depot,  a  young  sub- 
lieutenant. 

"A  game?" 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH    99 

"That's  a  go!" 

We  are  absorbed'  in  the  game — and,  with  the  log 
fire  to  keep  us'  warm,  I  forget  everything:  the  war, 
hardships,  and  at  the  same  time,  I  must  confess,  all 
that  I  love 

THE    PRACTICAL    POILU,    EPARGES. 

January,   1916. 

This  episode  took  place  at  I'Eperon-des-Mitrail- 
leuses,  which  is  balder  than  the  head  of  our  friend 
Mollinie.  Tons  of  explosives  in  the  last  few  months, 
have  been  dropped  on  this  little  sector,  and  the  pretty 
wood  which  runs  down  each  side  of  the  hill  has  com- 
pletely disappeared.  Underground,  two  long  galleries 
of  about  125  yards  each  are  being  dug  to  intercept 
the  enemy.  Again  we  find  ourselves  on  ground  where 
mining  warfare  progresses.  The  length  of  these  gal- 
leries renders  the  work  extremely  difficult ;  the  air 
there  is  bad  and  at  the  end  of  the  tunnel  our  sappers 
can  only  work  for  a  few  hours. 

The  installation  of  electric  lights  and  ventilators 
betters,  from  day  to  day,  living  conditions  which  exist 
in  these  villainous  holes. 

These  latter  also  occasion  a  visit  from  the  Colonel 
of  Engineers,  who,  on  a  certain  night,  comes  to  inspect 
the  improvements.  He  always  has  a  kind  word  for 
everyone. 

Arriving  at  the  end  of  the  gallery,  he  questions^  the 
brave  poilu,  who,  in  the  presence  of  his  colonel  works 
with  an  exaggerated  rapidity. 


100  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

"You  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  3'our  lieutenant 
who   furnishes   you  with  light  and  air." 
"Yes,  colonel,  but  I  prefer  pinard!" 


THE   LOGICAL    POILU,    CHEVALIERS   WOOD. 

January,  1916. 

Chevaliers  Wood  appears  to  be  at  the  extreme  ends 
of  the  earth,  so  much  so  that  one  feels  far  away  from 
everything  down  there.  The  cold  is  dry  and  piercing. 
Pretty,  white  smoke  rises  from  the  shelters,  in  which 
are  burning  bright  log  fires.  The  ground,  on  the 
outside,  is-  covered  with  snow. 

I  am  going  back  to  the  trenches,  having  at  my  side 
a  little  blue  devil.  The  'poilu  is  leading  a  mule,  a  nice, 
gentle  mule,  carrying  ammunition  to  a  n:.ichine-gun 
section. 

We  passed  at  the  side  of  a  75  battery,  so  well 
camouflee  that  we  had  not  seen  it.  We  are  just  even 
with  it  when  it  begins  to  fire. 

The  mule  makes  a  jump  and  I  see  the  moment  when 
our  little  chasseur  is  going  to  be  spilled  on  the  ground. 

He  recovers  his-  balance  and,  furious,  plants  him- 
self before  the  animal. 

"Nom  de  Dieu,  don't  you  know  our  75's?" 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH        101 

TRAGIC    COINCIDENCE,    EPARGES. 

January^  1916. 

I  have  spent  several  days  at  Berne  on  vacation. 
Some  hours  before  my  departure  I  went  into  a  shop 
to  buy  a  cold  luncheon  to  take  on  the  train. 

Near  the  shop-door  two  elderly  women  were  talking 
in  a  low  voice.  At  the  moment  I  went  out,  passing 
close  to  them,  I  overheard  the  word  "Eparges."  I 
stopped  short. 

"Pardon,  madame,  well  have  you  said  'Eparges' — 
I  come  from  there  and  I  return!  In  two  days  I  shall 
be  there  and  it  s-tartled  me  to  hear  the  name  pro- 
nounced so  far  from  that  spot  that  I  will  never  for- 
get it ! 

"Perhaps  you  know  someone  there?  Tell  me,  I 
will  go  and  see  him  for  you " 

"My  son,  Charles,  is  at  Eparges — his  name  is 
Charles  Dubois.     He  is  in  the  9th  Engineers " 

"Under  orders  from  Captain  Grenet,  my  friend;  he 
is  a  sapper-miner " 


"Yes,  Charles'  is  a  corporal  in  his  company." 
"Upon    my    arrival    at    Eparges,    I    promise    you, 
madame,  that  I  will  find  your  son.     He  will  be  very 
happy  when  I  tell  him  that  I  saw  his  mother  at  the 
precise  moment  she  was  thinking  of  him " 

On  the  road,  in  the  auto,  which  is  taking  me  to 
Mesnil-sur-les-Cotes,  I  think  of  Charles  Dubois,  whom 
I  shall  easily  find  at  the  end  of  my  journey. 


102  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

I  will  not  go  to  bed  in  the  shelter,  without  having 
£€en  him — God  knows,  however,  what  fatigue  the  last 
step  will  bring 

Alone  on  foot,  I  will  make  the  hard  trip  the  length 
of  Longeau,  a  brook,  which  was  torn  up  enough  in  1914 
and  the  beginning  of  1915. 

During  supper  tete  a  tete  with  Captain  Gunther, 
who  welcomed  me  heartily  on  my  return,  I  am  haunted 
by  the  memory  of  two  old  ladies 

"What  happened  in  my  absence?" 

"Nothing  in  particular,  except  this  morning.  We 
had  five  men  buried  by  a  camouflet — they  began  at 
once  to  recover  the  bodies.     All  were  killed " 

"I  am  going  above  to-night,  with  your  permis- 
sion  " 

"You  must  go  to  bed — you  look  very  tired!" 

"I  have  promised  a  woman  to  see  her  son " 

"I  will  accompany  you." 

Some  moments  later,  we  began  the  trip,  so  labori- 
ous at  night,  almost  to  the  crest  of  Eparges. 

At  first  the  long  path — what  irony ! — the  length  of 
which  was  found  the  shelters  of  our  sappers  and  from 
which  came  at  one  time  or  another,  sound's  of  voices. 
Then  we  passed  Sap  13,  where  was  heard  the  purring 
of  the  electric  generator  and  the  compressor. 

Farther  on  is  the  first-aid  station,  where  a  moment 
never  goes  by  without  finding  wounded  there 

Then  it  is  the  P.  C.  of  the  colonel,  where  there  is 
always  a  great  bustle,  and  where  one  must  say  to  the 
poilu, 

"Out  of  the  way,  mon  petit,  let  me  pass." 


u 


C      CS 

■>    a. 


H  5 


60   ca 

a  i 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH       103 

Finally,  the  subterranean  passage  about  sixty 
feet  in  length,  and  we  come  out  in  a  spot  not  so  dark : 
Woevre  plain  is  down  there.  We  turn  to  the  right. 
It  is  the  "Ravine  of  Death,"  where  trees  mutilated  by 
projectiles  are  silhouetted  against  the  night  like  a 
band  of  witches. 

One  feels  in  this  place  a  veritable  impression  of 
horror 

In  front,  pointing  into  the  starry  heavens,  the  crest 
of  Eparges 

Laboriously  we  climb  the  hill,  stopping  from  time 
to  time  to  get  our  breath.  Only  a  few  cannon  and 
machine  guns  trouble  the  calm  of  the  night. 

At  last  we  arrive  close  to  Grenet's  shelter,  where 
several  men  formed  a  group  along  the  embankment. 
I  called  one  of  his  sergeants  whom  I  already  knew. 

"Do    you   know    Charles   Dubois  .P" 

"Yes,  lieutenant.  You  heard  then  that  we  re- 
covered his  body.'"' 

"He  has  been  killed .?" 

"This  morning " 

"Where  is  he.?" 

The  poilu  turned — I  saw  a  stretcher,  a  shapeless 
mass  covered  with  a  blanket,  two  heavy  shoes  which 
E'tuck  out,  shrouded  with  red  soil 

It  is  night.  I  gently  lift  the  blanket  and  scarcely 
recognize  the  contour  of  his  face 

I  can  hear  the  voice  of  an  old  woman,  who  says  to 
another : 

"Charles  is  at  Eparges;  I  am  so  uneasy." 


104  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

THE   COMMERCIAL   BAR  !     EPARGES. 

January,  1916. 

Bombing  duels  all  morning 

We  have  gone  to  pay  a  visit  to  Major  X at 

his  fighting  dugout;  the  major  never  worries  about 
anything 

"Ah!  how  good  of  you  to  come — let  me  offer  you 
a  drink:  some  Turin,  whisky  and  soda,  Pernot,  or 
Cassis — which  do  you  want?  You  will  remain  and  have 
lunch  with  me?  I  have  a  live  lobster" — he  brandished 
that  animal  triumphantly — "and,  with  that,  grilled 
lamb  chops,  potatoes,  pont-neuf.'* 

Turning  toward  the  telejihone  operator  and  without 
waiting  for  our  reply,  he  said: 

"Waiter,  set  two  covers  morel" 


FATE,    EPARGES, 

January,  1916. 

"Mamma!  your  ears  are  tingling  to-day " 

I  left  Colonel  Moran's  shelter  and  directed  my  steps 
toward  our  own,  following  the  board  path.  I  walked 
with  difficulty  because  the  terrain  was  bad.  On  my 
right  the  mud  was  so  deep  that  one  could  not  step 
out  into  it  without  sinking  up  to  the  hips ! 

The  boches  commenced  to  shell  us  with  150's.  The 
first  shot  fell  between  Montgirmont  and  Eparges,  in 
plain  view,  75  to  125  yards  from  me.    The  second  burst 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCPI       105 

125  yards  to  the  left,  back  of  our  little  board  chapel, 
raising  a  great  fuss. 

The  third  hit  ten  feet  from  me — whack !  It  did  not 
explode,  but  splattered  me  from  head  to  foot — I 
couldn't  be  picked  up  with  pincers ! 

"Maimna!  your  ears  are  tinghng  to-day." 


THE  COLONEL  WHO  LOVES  GOOD  MUSIC,  EPARGES. 

January,  1916. 
Bombardment  all  morning — the  hill  trembles 


I  am  lunching  with  Colonel  X ,  an  immense  Cor- 

sican,  who  never  knows  what  fear  is 

The  meal  is,  ma  foi,  very  good  and  very  lively.  A 
big  boche  torpedo  burst  not  far  away 

"Tell  me  of  Verdi's  music  instead  of  this  German 
melody  outside.     I'm  a  lover  of  the  arts !" 


EPARGES  CEMETERY. 

January,  1916. 

Eparges  Cemetery  with  its  symmetrically  aligned 
graves  is  touching.  The  Bavarians  bombard  it  sys- 
tematically, their  hearts  set  upon  destroying  it,  and 
the  shells  churn  these  sacred  little  plots  from  top  to 
bottom 

The  poilus,  on  the  board  path,  shake  their  heads  and 
say: 

"There!  again  they're  murdering  our  dead." 


106  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FR.^XE 

LOST  IN  THE  DARK,  CALONNE  TEENCH, 

January,  1916. 

Night  black — night  without  moon — rifle  shots  re- 
sound like  in  a  cave — we  can't  see  more  than  a  yard 
in  front  of  us.  My  friend  and  I  must  rejoin  a  squad 
of  poilus  at  work. 

We  have  taken  a  short  cut  and  stumble  into  shell- 
holes.  We  bump  into  tree  stumps — climb  hills.  Yes, 
we  are  lost.     We  retrace  our  steps — tired  and  hungry. 

We  fall  against  something — it's  a  mound!  I  flash 
my  electric  torch  on  it,  masking  the  glare  with  the 
flat  of  my  hand.  It's  a  grave !  There  is  a  small  wooden 
cross  on  which  is  written :  "Here  lies  an  unknown 
soldier." 

LeBlond  and  myself  gave  a  sigh  of  relief: 

"We  are  at  the  'Grave  of  the  Apple  Trees,'  which  is 
to  the  right  in  the  direction  of  the  cross ;  we  are  on 
the  proper  path —  Thanks,  poor  old  chap " 


THE    FIRST    TRAIN,    EPAHGES, 

January,  1916. 

The  narrow  gauge  track  has  been  finished — the  first 
train  is  due  to  arrive  to-night.  Captain  Gunther  has 
put  Menard's  Prince  Albert  over  his  uniform,  and, 
with  a  little  red  flag,  a  horn  and  a  lantern,  has  gone 
to  await  the  arrival  of  the  convoy.  One  hour,  two 
hours  pass ! 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH       107 

The  train  did  not  come — it  has  been  derailed  near 
Tresauvaux.  We  learned  later  that  the  track  had  been 
torn  up  by  shells. 

"Ah!  these  Government  railroads — they  never  run." 


HERMAN   AND   HIS   CANTEEN,   EPARGES, 

January,  1916. 

For  some  months  we  have  seen  this  corpse  in  front 
of  us — fifty  yards  away —  In  the  rain,  snow,  cold,  we 
have  noticed  it  change  its  position  several  times 

Herman,  the  "pretty  German  officer,"  was  often  the 
subject  of  discussion:  for  he  must  have  on  him  shiny 
brass  buttons  to  decorate  our  cigarette  lighters 
and  our  catrridge  boxes — his  boots  could  no  longer  be 
any  good,  because  around  him  there  must  have  been 
a  nice  bed  of  mushrooms ! 

A  change  in  the  line  brought  us  close  to  Herman. 
The  first  patrol  which  went  out  crouched  over  to 
him — — 

Quickly  one  cut  the  buttons  from  his  tunic 

"Wait,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "he's  still  got  his 
canteen !" 

A  poilu  easily  detached  it,  then  shook  it  close 
to  his  ear — the  canteen  was  yet  half  full ! 

He  unscrewed  the  cover — he  sniffed  it.  It  was 
brandy ! 

In  a  low  voice,  he  said  to  the  others : 

"Ell!  les  vieux,  it's  brandy!" 


108  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

Tossing  off  a  drink,  he  passed  Herman's  canteen  to 
his  neighbor 


I  DISCOVER  A  COUSIN,  EPARGES. 

January,  1916. 

It  is  two  o'clock  in  the  morning — all  the  men  have 
retired.  I  have  just  returned  from  Calonne  Trench 
and  am  very  tired  on  entering  our  shelter —  A  man — ■ 
with  a  sheepskin  thrown  over  his  uniform  like  a  cape — 
is  waiting  for  me  in  the  outer  room.  He  is  seated  near 
the  smouldering  fire.     He  rises  quickly. 

"Good  morning,  cousin " 

"Wliat,  you  here ! —  Speak  low  because  the  others 
sleep." 

"Yes,  I  learned  that  you  were  at  Eparges,  and  ob- 
tained permission  to  come  and  see  you  before  going  into 
the   trenches." 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

"Back  of  the  lines  I'm  a  color  bearer,  here,  I  am  just 
like  the  others.  Very  soon  we  are  going  to  occupy  the 
craters." 

"Keep  your  eyes  open,  mon  petit,  and  don't  forget 
that  in  this  damned  sector  you  must  have  sang-froid 
and  presence  of  mind  if  you  want  to  get  out  of  it 
alive.  You  must  save  from  tears  some  pretty  pair  of 
eyes — a  handsome  young  man  like  yourself  certainly 
has  a  sweetheart!" 

He  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH       109 

"I'm  not  ashamed  of  that.     If  I  survive  this  only 
the  love  of  a  woman  can  bring  happiness  hereafter." 
He  hastily  drew  a  picture  out  of  his  wallet, 
"Look,  cousin,  how  beautiful  she  is — I  adore  her !" 
Two  hours  later  a  bullet  penetrated  his  thigh  while 
he  was  in  0  crater. 

Now  he  is  in  a  little  white  bed  and  in  a  few  weeks 
he  will  be  able  to  see  her  again 

THE  ONE  WHO  READS  PLUTAECH. 

January,  1916. 

While  looking  over  the  first  line  of  Calonne  Trench, 
I  found  a  poilu,  seated  on  the  ground,  reading. 

"What  is  that  you  are  reading.'*"  I  questioned. 

"A  translation  of  Plutarch." 

*'It's  all  right  to  read  history,  my  friend,  but  you 
are  doing  better — you  are  making  greater  history  your- 
self—  Read  on !" 


MAJOE  ANTHOINE  S  CANDLE,  MONT-SUR-LES-COTES. 

February,  1916. 

Ah!  What  a  brave  man  this  Major  Anthoine — we 
are  to  dine  with  him  to-night. 

When  we  arrived  we  found  him  bent  over  his  map 
as  usual — magnifying  glass  in  hand,  he  followed,  hour 
by  hour,  this  war  of  mines,  this  underground  struggle, 
so  bitter  at  Eparges.  The  dinner  was  more  than  per- 
fect as  it  always  was. 


110  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

As  we  were  about  to  leave,  he  commenced  to  undress 
and  with  a  lighted  candle  in  hand  and  half-clothed, 
he  conducts  us  to  our  machine. 

The  boches  have  seen  the  candle  and  without  delay 
a  77  comes  whistling  over  loudly,  bursting  on  an  empty 
house  in  the  village.  The  major  held  up  his  candlestick 
for  them  to  see,  then  extinguished  it,  saying: 

"Snuff  it  out !" 

In  reply  the  boches  sent  over,  one  after  the  other, 
three  77's  which  did  no  more  damage  than  the  first. 

"You  see,  it  was  hardly  worth  four  to  put  that 
damn'  thing  out!" 


DISCOVERED,    ORNES. 

February,  1916. 

To-night  a  patrol  discovered  a  corpse  between  the 
trenches.  It  was  a  very  young  boche  soldier,  almost 
a  child.     They  brought  the  body  into  our  lines. 

Upon  searching  him,  they  found  some  papers — I  was 
near  the  commander  of  Ornes,  when  an  officer  ap- 
proached with  them. 

In  a  leather  case  there  was  a  letter  written  on  very 
plain  paper. 

"Can  you  read  German,  Capart.'"' 

"Yes " 

"Read,  then " 

Slowly  I  read  a  simple  letter  from  a  mother  to  her 
child. 

"Your  young  brother  Louis  is  not  discreet,  so  we 


EPARGES  AND  CALONNE  TRENCH       111 

must  tell  him  he  cannot  see  you  on  your  next  vacation. 
The  work  at  Ruhr  is  very  hard  now  and  everyone  com- 
plains. We  need  many  things  badly,  and,  above  all, 
miss  you —  When  is  it  all  going  to  be  over?" 

"Stop!"  said  the  major.  "They  brought  on  this 
war.     They  suffer?     So  much  the  better!" 

"It  is  up  to  us  now  to  kill  these  wolves  and  their 
young — and  here's  one.  Get  every  one  you  can,  men ! 
Let  the  she-wolves  howl  in  anguish!" 


CHAPTER  SIX 

THE   FIRST   MONTHS   OF   THE   BATTLE   OF 
VERDUN 


This  deals  tdth  the  battle  of  Verdun,  The  author 
took  part  in  the  first  days  of  the  battle  on  the  right 
bank  and  the  left  bank  of  the  Meuse.  He  spent,  like- 
wise, almost  all  the  month  of  March  at  the  Verdun 
front. 

On  June  7,  1916,  Sub-Lieutenant  Capart  became  at- 
tached to  the  General  Staff  of  General  Petain,  but  often 
he  continued  to  fight  and  work  with  the  poilus  and 
also  with  his  old  comrades. 


CHAPTER  SIX 

DAY  BEFORE  BATTLE  OF  VERDUN,  EPARGES. 

February  20,  1916. 

A  T  dawn  the  sky  is  unbroken.     It  is  a  veritable 
ZV     spring  day  that  is  here!     A  ray  of  sun  in  this 
"^  spot — what  good  luck ! 

I  feel  this  morning  a  delicious  sense  of  joy  and  hap- 
piness to  live. 

A  poilu,  on  the  board  walk,  said  to  his  friend :  "This 
will  be  a  great  day  for  airplanes." 

In  effect,  all  morning  our  airplanes  and  those  of 
the  enemy  described,  at  very  high  altitudes,  frequent 
circles,  recrossing  the  lines,  girded  by  puffs  of  white 
smoke  of  breaking  projectiles. 

In  spite  of  the  joy  which  filled  us  all,  we  never  spoke 
but  of  the  next  attack,  the  topic  of  conversation  for 
the  past  several  days. 

We  were  at  the  turning  point  of  the  war;  month 
after  month,  the  ruin  of  the  Central  Empires  became 
more  certain,  each  hour  that  passed  they  became  more 
enfeebled  in  human  energy  and  in  money!  "Parbleu," 
said  an  officer,  "their  armies  have  been  developing  on 
the  different  fronts  excessively,  the  strain  on  their 
troops  has  become  very  strong ;  and  a  military  decision 
imposes  itself  upon  them." 

"5 


116  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

They  wished  to  hasten  the  end  of  the  war  and  the 
way  to  finish  it  is  to  attempt  a  great  thrust,  a  decisive 
thrust,  a  desperate  thrust — the  propitious  time  is  come, 
it  is  the  moment  to  attack,  there  is  not  an  instant  to 
lose! 

It  was  easily  determined  that  a  formidable  battle  was 
about  to  commence  and  that  the  shock  would  be 
heavy 

Here  are  some  of  the  remarks  that  were  passed  back 
and  forth  at  Eparges,  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Verdun. 
That  night  in  the  trenches  there  was  a  silence,  a  silence 
impressive.     The  night  was  calm  and  starry 

THE  DAY  OF  February  21,  1916. 

I  left  Eparges  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  As 
before  the  day  dawned  magnificently.  In  a  happy  mood, 
I  start  out  with  Dr.  Nicolas  to  find  some  of  my  poilus 
on  the  menaced  front. 

An  automobile  was  waiting  on  the  MesnQ-sur-les- 
Cotes  to  take  us  to  the  north  of  Verdun. 

On  leaving  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  rum- 
bling of  cannon,  heavy  and  uninterrupted,  was  heard: 
the  battle  of  Verdun  had  commenced.   .    .    . 

I  did  not  intend  to  stop  at  Verdun,  but  on  approach- 
ing the  city,  I  saw  the  civil  population  fleeing  en  masse 
toward  the  country,  after  380's  fell  at  regular  intervals 
on  the  martyred  city  for  about  an  hour. 

After  a  short  stop,  I  left  again  for  Cumieres  and 
C6te-de-l'0ie,  where  I  also  had  a  squad  of  workers. 

Leaving   Bras,   it   was   easy    to   determine   that   the 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  117 

enemy  had  launched  his  offensive  on  the  right  bank  of 
the  Meuse. 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  the  bursting  of  large 
projectiles  was  seen:  thej'  fell  particularly  on  the  forts, 
on  the  roads,  on  the  cantonments,  on  the  trenches. 

The  crushing  noise  produced  by  these  large  Mar- 
mites*  became  accentuated  hour  by  hour;  a  curtain 
of  smoke  collected  against  the  blue  sky,  and,  with  the 
brightness  of  the  da}',  this  spectacle  certainly  did  not 
lack  grandeur. 

I  still  command  a  view  of  the  battle-field  seen  from 
the  Cote-de-l'Oie ;  columns  of  smoke  go  rolling  on  the 
banks  of  the  Meuse.  I  had  never  seen  such  parallel 
artillery  preparation  up  to  that  day. 

Our  poilus  cried: 

"The  77's  and  105's  no  longer  exist!" 

It  could  easily  be  seen  that  "something"  was  taking 
place  on  the  right  bank  where  the  intensity  of  the 
artillery  became  greater  hour  by  hour. 

They  fought  stubbornly  before  Samonieux  and  we 
heard  the  noise  of  the  machine-guns.  I  made  the  reso- 
lution to  go  and  rejoin  the  men  I  had  at  Ornes,  on 
the  right  bank,  since  it  was  they  above  all  that  were 
in  the  greatest  danger. 


The  memory  of  the  afternoon  of  this  day  will  for- 
ever remain  sad;  I  ask  myseJf  often  how  my  comrade 
LeBlond  and  I  had  been  able  to  reach  Ornes. 

*  Marir.il.es — Gennan  shells  of  big  caliber. — Tr. 


118  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

We  succeeded  in  reaching  Bras  toward  two  o'clock: 
the  village  was  violently  bombarded — human  bodies  and 
horses  blocked  the  streets. 

I  went  to  pay  my  respects  to  General  B whom 

I  found  in  his  fighting  post,  surrounded  by  his  officers. 
Jle  wished  us  good  luck  in  affectionate  terms. 

We  climbed  Cote  du  Poivre  and  arrived  at  Louve- 
mont  toward  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  In  going 
through  the  village,  our  eyes  commenced  to  be  irritated 
by  tear  gas :  the  bombardment  was  infernal. 

It  was  apparent  that  the  enemy  was  undertaking  a 
decisive  action.  The  road  which  we  traversed  was  ham- 
mered by  numerous  projectiles  and  there  was  nothing 
for  us  to  do  but  forge  ahead  like  automatons 

LeBlond  had  taken  my  arm,  and,  together,  it  was 
decided  not  to  stop  before  any  obstacle 

The  nearer  we  approached  Chambrettes  the  more 
dense  became  the  fire. 

At  four  o'clock  the  enemy  piled  up  a  barrage  on 
the  road  and  concentrated  their  fire  on  the  farm:  it 
rained  projectiles  of  all  calibers — of  all  big  calibers, 
I  know. 

In  a  circle  of  325  yards  radius,  there  fell,  certainly, 
four  marmites  every  second,  of  a  caliber  equal  or  su- 
perior to  21  centimeters.  The  ground  trembled  and  a 
smoke,  acrid  and  suffocating,  enveloped  us. 

The  150  timed-shell  from  time  to  time  rent  the  air 
with  their  furious  screams  like  those  of  a  cat  when  you 
step  on  its  tail 

During  my  whole  campaign  never  have  I  seen  an 
equal  density  of  fire. 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  119 

Torn  bodies  of  skirmishers  were  scattered  here  and 
there  in  this  zone  of  almost  certain  death.  Continuing 
our  way  we  had  escaped  death  more  than  once  in  this 
violent  fire.  We  were  covered  with  spurts  of  earth 
from  bursting  projectiles  which  fell  close  to  us  and 
those  that  fell  around  struck  us  with  ricochctting  frag- 
hients  of  steel. 

As  there  was  not  urgent  need  of  reaching  Ornes,  we 
resolved  to  tarry  a  few  instants  in  one  of  the  shelters 
on  the  farm.  We  had  175  yards  to  go  in  a  rain  of 
steel  and  well-directed  fire,  or  as  dizzy  a  route  as  the 
ascension  of  Mount  Cervin,  for  example. 

We  entered  the  telephone  post  at  the  precise  moment 
the  poilus  ascertained  all  underground  lines  had  been 
cut 

The  shells  continued  to  fall  so  fast  around  us  that 
we  had  the  impression  of  being  on  the  inside  of  a  her- 
metically sealed  autobus  rumbling  with  great  speed  over 
a  rough  pavement. 

A  projectile  burst  at  one  corner  of  the  shelter  which 
crumbled  from  the  force  of  the  explosion  and  threw  us 
all  together  in  a  heap —  No  panic ! 

I  sensed  the  feeling  that  our  last  hour  had  come  and 
the  men,  picking  themselves  up  in  silence,  crowded  into 
the  corners  save  one  who  cried,  gesticulating  with  his 
arms: 

"Is — is  that  what  you  call  a  demolishing  fire.'*" 


Our  objective  was  Ornes  and  if  it  became  necessary 
to  die  I  avowed  that  I  would  prefer  to  fall  in  the  light, 


120  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

my  "eyes  turned  toward  the  sun.  "If  die  we  must,"  I 
say  to  LeBlond,  on  leaving  the  dugout,  "I  would  rather 
be  killed  outside " 

"I  am  with  you " 

Again  we  traveled  over  a  space  of  350  yards  in  a 
haze  of  fire  and  smoke 

A  viarmite  fell  a  few  steps  away,  covering  us  with 
dirt —  I  see  my  comrade  stagger,  struck  on  the  head 
with  a  large  mass.  Fortunately  it  is  only  a  ball  of 
turf  which  knocks  him  violently  to  the  ground 

He  picks  himself  up,  and  in  a  ringing  voice: 

"Yes,  if  that  one  will  not  get  me  a  vacation,  now,  you 
will  not  be  very  chic!" 


Some  hours  later  we  reached  Ornes,  having  had  to 
go  through  the  barrage  at  Chambrettes,  and  another, 
of  305's,  on  the  cavernous  road  along  Chaumc  Wood. 
This  road,  so  quiet  a  few  days  before,  had  become  a 
veritable  hell. 

The  village  of  Ornes,  itself,  was  relatively  calm  that 
night,  the  infantry  attacks  not  having  begun  up  to  the 
present  only  between  the  Meuse  and  Herbebois  Wood. 
The  poilus  waited  calmly  all  events  that  might  be  forth- 
coming, always  ready  to  do  their  duty  stoically  and 
simply 

I  had  promised  General  B to  give  him  news  of 

our  sector  during  the  night,  all  the  telephonic  means 
of  communication  having  been  destroyed. 

Again  I  traversed  the  entire  road  from  Ornes  to 
Bras ;  at  Chambrettes  the  spectacle  was  fairy-like — 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  121 

our  batteries  on  the  one  side  fired  in  unison  and  their 
flashes  illumined  the  heavens.  In  front  of  us  the  soar- 
ing shells  came  thick  and  fast  from  the  forest  of  Spin- 
court  and  Forges  Wood,  intermittently  brightening  the 
darkness  like  a  luminous  pianotagc,  giving  one  the 
impression  that  every  ten  square  yards  there  was  an 
enemy   battery. 

The  sky  was  ablaze  on  the  horizon — it  was  the  burn- 
ing villages 

Yes,  they  began  well  the  great  battle,  the  greatest 
battle  in  the  history  of  the  world 


THE  DAY  OF  February  22,  1916. 

Our  impressions  were  precise,  the  battle  was  going  to 
be  rude.  The  enemy  had  accumulated  a  formidable 
heavy  artillery,  to  which  it  seemed  impossible  to  respond 
for  the  moment. 

They  sent  over  as  many  210's  as  they  formerly  had 
77's  and  as  many  280's,  305's,  380's,  and  420's  as  they 
had  105's  and  ISO's. 

The  men  all  felt  immediately  at  the  beginning  of  the 
battle  that  the  enemy  would  be  stopped  only  by  mere 
brute  strength 

AT   NOON   IN   A   CELLAR   IN   THE   VILLAGE   OF   CUMIERES. 

During  a  very  heavy  bombardment  we  were  lunching. 
We  had  a  basket  of  oysters  that  came  from  Verdun. 


122  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

The  merchant  sold  out  his  wares  so  that  he  could  flee 
with  the  townspeople —  The  city  is  empty. 

"Allans,  if  the  oysters  last,  it  will  be  possible  to  with- 
stand the  blow! " 

ROAD   TO   GENES NINE  o'CLOCK   AT   NIGHT 

The  number  of  dead  men  and  horses  along  the  road 
to  Ornes  has  increased 

The  intensity  of  enemy  artillery  fire  has  not  dimin- 
ished, and  the  sound  of  the  battle  reaches  farther  to 
the  right 

We  pass  wounded,  alone  or  in  little  groups,  dragging 
themselves  to  the  rear 

CHAUME  WOOD TEN   o'CLOCK   AT   NIGHT 

A  cry! 

"Here— help !" 
We  stopped- 


This  cry  is  repeated  several  times.  I  enter  the  Wood. 
Guided  by  the  sound  of  the  voice  and  climbing  over 
shattered  and  twisted  trees,  I  end  by  discovering  a 
human  form  cowering  in  a  shell-hole 

"You're  wounded?" 

"Yes,  in  the  head,  the  arms,  in  the  legs  and  the 
heart " 

"Man  vieux,  you  bawl  too  much  to  be  really  wounded. 
Get  up!" 

The  unfortunate  arose  and  I  read  fear  in  his  eyes. 

"Where  do  you  come  from?" 

"From  Herbebois — they  attacked  with  their  flame- 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  123 

throwers — I  saw  my  brother  lieutenant,  burning  like  a 
torch.  My  comrades  stayed,  but  I  know  nothing 
more " 

THE    MAGNIFICENT    POILU,    CHAMBRETTES. 

February  22,  1916. 

A  column  of  infantry-munitions  wagons  halted  at  the 
fork  in  the  road  from  Beaumont  and  Ornes;  a  305 
shell  had  dug  a  deep  crater  in  the  road  which  was 
cut  in  two. 

These  light  wagons,  in  good  order,  could  pass 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left  of  the  hole  on 
account  of  wire  entanglements. 

Observed  by  the  enemy,  the  convoy,  after  some 
moments,  met  with  a  veritable  rain  of  projectiles,  time 
and  percussion,  which  fell  around  us. 

Men,  horses  and  mules  were  killed  or  wounded.  A 
poilu  spontaneously  took  command  of  the  column,  his 
immediate  superiors  having  been  killed.  The  beasts 
reared  and  plunged,  frightened  by  the  flashes  and  ex- 
plosions which  succeeded  each  other  rapidly.  The  men 
clinging  to  the  bridles  were  killed  on  the  spot  before 
they  could  make  a  move! 

A  little  soldier  is  lifted  high  by  his  frantic  mule, 
which  stands,  straight  up  on  its  hind  feet.  He  curses, 
he  yells,  while  the  timed  shell  churn  the  air  with  wait- 
ings like  a  dying  child 

"I  say  you  will  not  go  back — at  a  time  like  this, 
you  mules  must  not  go  back!" 


124  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

A  few  seconds  later  he  and  his  mule  are  on  the 
ground,  fastened,  one  to  the  other,  by  the  bridle:  the 
shell  which  killed  him  has  almost  stripped  his  body 
of  clothes.  I  also  was  thrown  to  the  ground,  but  I  am 
not  hit 

Bending  over  the  man,  I  attempt  to  find,  but  vainly, 
his  identification  tag,  so  that  some  day  the  name  of 
this  obscure  hero  may  be  known 

The  mule,  stretched  out  at  full  length,  essays  to 
raise  its  head,  still  grasped  by  the  hands  of  the  corpse, 
and  gives  a  couple  of  useless-  kicks 

It  commences  to  snow 

THE   DAY    OF    FEBRUARY    23,    ELEVEN    o'cLOCK    AT   NIGHT. 

The  major,  commanding  Ornes,  says  to  me: 

"This  is  what  must  be  done!  Our  left  has  com- 
pletely collapsed  and  we  can  be  flanked  at  any  mo- 
ment. I  have  sent  a  reconnaissance  to  Herbebois 
Wood;  the  patrol  has  returned  and  tells  me  no  one 
is  there  any  longer 

"As  you  know  the  sector  perfectly,  you  must  go 
to  Louvemont  yourself  to  inform  the  Division  of  our 
situation.  Take  somqone  with  you  so  that  if  one  is 
killed  the  other  can  carry  the  information  just 
the  same!  Be  careful  along  the  Chaume  Wood,  be- 
cause from  here  to  Chambrettcs,  you  will  meet  up 
with  a  boche  patrol.  It  has  now  become  a  first-line 
position.     Keep  your  revolver  in  your  hand " 

"Yes,  major." 

"Go,  my  friend." 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  125 

"Thank  you." 
"Good  luck '» 


THE    MATCHLESS    POILUS,    BEFORE    CHAUME    WOOD, 

February  23,  1918. 

The  road  from  Ornes,  before  Chaume  Wood,  has 
assumed  a  fantastic  appearance !  The  trees  are  fallen 
and    the    branches    are    entangled 

The  beautiful  countryside  has  become  chaotic  fol- 
lowing this  avalanche  of  projectiles-  of  the  preceding 
days.  The  bombardment  is  always  frightful.  The 
snow  which  has  fallen  the  night  before  makes  going 
bad  and  one  slips  and  stumbles  incessantly.  How 
difficult  it  is  to  follow  such  a  road  at  night  when  you 
haven't  slept  for  three  days ! 

Again  I  have  been  made  a  s-cout  and  I  ask  myself 
if  I  will  be  not  soon,  in  my  turn,  one  of  these  hideous 
corpses  which  I  pass  each  instant  and  which  have 
been  snapped  up  by  death  along  this  damned  road. 
It  seems  now  as  if  the  shells  were  searching  you  out 
and  rifle  bullets   followed  you 

In  the  semi-moonlit  shadow  I  perceive  two  stretcher- 
bearers  caught  by  death  as  they  carry  their  wounded; 
the  one  in  the  lead  is  on  his  knees,  the  other  already 
down,  both  clutching  the  handles  of  the  litter. 

I  continue  my  route.  Before  arriving  at  the  bifuca- 
tion  of  the  two  roads  to  Ornes  and  Beaumont,  I  can- 
not longer  recognize  my  direction,  so  great  has  been 
the  change  in  the  aspect  of  the  surroundings  during 
the  last  three  days. 


126  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

I  overtake  t.vo  men  whe,  en  peres  pcinards,*  happy 
at  meeting  someone,  suggest  we  go  together.  They 
walk  without  haste;  the  terrain  has  become  very  diffi- 
cult to  follow  and  it  is  dark 

Suddenly  one  of  them  makes  a  false  step,  he  has  not 
seen  an  immense  shell-hole,  and  he  falls  forward  head 
first 

His  comrade,  on  the  edge  of  the  crater,  bursts 
with  laughter. 

"You're  not  crazy.  You  knov  well  enough  the  sub- 
way is  closed  at  this  time  of  night !" 

AT  THE  WEST  CORNER  OF  CHAUME  WOOD,  MIDNIGHT. 

"Who  goes-  there.?" 

"France !" 

Some  poilus  hastily  cross  a  part  of  the  trench  at 
the  border  of  the  Wood.  The  officer  in  command  of 
them  is  one  of  my  old  comrades  at  Eparges 

"Tell  me  the  news.     How  is  it  going?" 

"I  was  going  to  ask  the  same  question.'"' 

"It's  the  third  day.     The  attack  will  be  held!" 

"Yes-,  it  must  be  held!" 

We  embraced  each  other  and  parted — I  have  never 
•en  him  again! 

*As  they  leave  the  trenches,  muddy,  unshaven,  dirty,  red-eyed. — Tr. 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  127 


ON  THE  ROAD  FROM  CHAMBRETTES  TO  LOUVEMONT, 

February  23,  1916. 

Two  men  go  along  the  road  with  a  heavy  step — 
we  follow  them. 

"It's  serious — but  we'll  get  'em.     What  an  attack!" 

"What  a  difference  from  Champagne !" 

They   stopped   before   a   corpse,   curled   in   a   heap; 

he   had    certainly    fallen    to-day   because    we   had   not 

noticed  him  yesterday.     With  his  big  bloated  lips  and 

blackened    face    he    might    have    been    taken    for    a 

negro 

"How    curious    is    the   problem    of   life    and   death! 
Why  him   and  not  us?" 

"Poor  chap,  poor  old  fellow.     Let's  go " 


THE    POILU    WHO    HADN  T    ANY    SUSPENDERS, 

The  day  of  February  24,  1916. 

The  cannonade  is  frightful.  There  is  a  dumb- 
founding fire  along  the  route — and  we  are  right  in 
the  midst  of  the  stricken  zone. 

"Look  out,  my  friend,  pleas-e  don't  stop,  we'll  all 
be  shot  to  pieces " 

"I  must  pull  up  my  pants — they've  fallen  down — 
I  haven't  got  any  suspenders " 

"You  are  ,  not  even  reasonable — during  such  days 
we  are  living  in  historic  moments — you  can  use  twine 
just  as  well " 


128  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


THE    PSYCHOLOGICAL    POILU,    ORNES, 

February,  24,  1916. 


It  is  night- 


The  sky  is  ablaze  to  our  left.  They  will  perhaps 
attack  at  any  moment.  Shell  rain  around  us  four 
at  a  time  and  at  regular  intervals. 

As  the  positions  on  our  left  have  been  forced  back 
and  our  flank  menaced,  Chabert's  sappers  have  hastily 
dug  a  small  trench  at  the  entrance  to  the  village, 
facing  the  west. 

The  poilus  are  waiting  stoically  for  whatever  may 
transpire.  A  man  is  curled  up  and,  numb  with 
fatigue,  sleeps.  One  of  his  companions  shakes  him 
and  says : 

"Mon  vieux,  you  cannot  sleep.  Wake  up,  because 
each  minute  we  hold  them  now,  it  is   a  VICTORY!" 

WOUNDED,    BEZONVAUX. 

'Night  of  February  24-25,  1916. 

Our  artillery  no  longer  responds.  The  order  to 
fall  back  was  given  at  five  o'clock.  My  men  are  mov- 
ing toward  Verdun,  conducted  by  Sergeant  Thiebaut. 
I  stop  at  Bezonvaux,  hoping  to  find  there  my  com- 
rade Chabert.  I  have  promised  his  mother,  who  has 
only  this  boy,  that  I  will  watch  over  him  like  a 
brother 

Followed  by  Corporal  Poulet,  who  has  remained  with 
me,    I    wander    around    in    the    violently    bombarded 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  129 

village.  I  enter  the  empty  homes  abandoned  b}'  their 
inhabitants,  where  our  poor  soldiers,  tired  out  and 
saying  nothing,  lie  stretched  out  on  the  floors.  The 
big  marmites  arrive  at  regular  intervals,  cnjshing 
houses  and  occupants 

Finally  I  end  by  discovering  one  of  Chabert's  sap- 
pers and  say  to  him: 

"Where  is  your  lieutenant?     Take  me  to  him!" 

"I  don't  know  where  he  is- — I  believe  he  has  been 
killed " 

The  night  is  black  and  the  air  is  filled  with  smoke 
and  dust.  One  stumbles  above  all  on  plaster  and 
bricks 

Sinister  detonations  and  cries  and  groans.  There 
is,  in  the  air,  the  breath  of  catastrophe,  yes,  of  catag.- 
trophe,  which  oppresses  your  chest. 

The  man  who  guides  us  is  lost — he  goes  and  comes, 
he  makes  us  take  wide  detours,  he  is  afraid  and  is 
nervous 

A  large  projectile  falls  at  our  side — the  poilu  is 
knocked  down,  giving  vent  to  a  raucous  cry  as  he  falls. 
I  fall  myself  to  my  knees  and  feel  the  heat  of  blood 
which  runs  down  my  chest.  My  left  hand  rests  on  the 
body  of  the  sapper  and  I  am  conscious  of  it  covered 
with  warm  blood 

Poulet  raises  me  up,  giving  me  a  drink  of  brandy. 
Stray  bullets  whistle  around  us 

I  am  only  slightly  wounded  and  take  Poulet's-  arm 
to  direct  ourselves  toward  Fort  Douaumont  where  I 
will  have  it  dressed. 

How  long  and  sad  is  this  road.     It  is  a  veritable 


130  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

Calvary  for  me  and  I  stagger  lamentably;  these  last 
days  have  proven  almost  too  much 

"Lieutenant,  why  doesn't  our  artillery  respond  any 
more?"  Poulet  asked  me  several  times-. 

"I  do  not  know,  mon  petit,  we  are  going  through 
grave  times,  but  we  must  not  get  discouraged.  Have 
confidence !" 


COTE-DE-L  OIE. 

February  25,  1916. 

Someone  who  must  be  amazed  is  the  surgeon-in- 
chicf  of  Gondrecourt ! 

I  arrived  at  his  hospital  in  the  early  morning  in 
Colonel  Gency's  automobile,  who  announced  my  com- 
ing by  telephone 

A  hospital  attendant  tore  off  my  tunic,  cut  off  my 
shirt,  baring  a  bloody  chest 

"We  are  going  to  give  you  an  anti-tetanus  injec- 
tion, radiograph  you,  and  to  commence  with,  I'm  go- 
ing to  call  the  surgeon-in-chief " 

While  the  attendant  was  gone,  I  hurriedly  dress-ed 
myself  and  left — English  fashion.  Luckily  Colonel 
Gency's  automobile  was  still  there.  I  had  no  fear  of 
pain,  or  the  boches,  but  I  don't  like  doctors! 

I  went  through  Cumieres  like  a  shooting  star  would 
pierce  a  rain  of  projectiles  and  sought  refuge  at  Cote- 
de-l'Oie,  where  I  know  they  will  not  come  to  search 
for  me •■ 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  131 

FEAR,   CUMIERES. 

February  25,  1916. 

Fear  ...  Oh!  terrible  thing!  It  is  a  contagious 
maLady  that  has  to  be  watched.  All  of  us'  have  inside 
a  cowardly  beast  that  awakens  sometimes  at  the  ap- 
proach of  danger 

Very  violent  bombardment  to-day.  The  two 
chauffeurs  who  brought  me  here  this  morning  left  the 
machine  at  the  entrance  to  the  village.  On  returning 
from  C6te-de-l'0ie  I  found  them  in  a  sappers'  bombard- 
ment shelter  where  they   sought  refuge. 

These  men  are  green  and  grumble  about  things. 
Around  them  are  some  poilus  and  a  captain.  The 
explosions  outside  redouble  and  I  feel  as  if  the  whole 
world  was-  ill  at  ease. 

The  two  automobilists,  to  put  on  a  bold  front, 
speak  of  their  machine  "which  must  be  demolished  by 
this  time"  or  "which  must  have  been  torn  to  pieces 
long  ago,"  and  by  the  trembling  of  their  voices  I  divine 
that  they  are  thinking  of  themselves  in  speaking  of 
the  "automobile." 

Little  by  little  the  others  chatted  about  the  effect 
of  the  bombardment  and  they  discovered  that  the 
dugout  was  not  very  solid  and  that  an  accident  could 
easily  happen.  The  captain  appeared  to  me  nervous 
and  at  once  I  felt  that  strange  thing  burning  within 


m( 


This-  anguish  that  grew  inside  is  perhaps  the  result 
of  these  last  days  of  fatigue  during  which  we  had  not 
been   able  to   rest   an   instant,  day  or  night.      It   is, 


132  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

perhaps,  the  result  of  my  wound  of  last  night  which  still 
bleeds  and  makes  my  shirt  stick  to  my  body 

No,  it  is  these  two  cowards,  these  two  birds  of  bad 
luck  that  make  us-  shiver 

At  such  times  "you  have  got  to  kill  fear,"  or  one 
is  lost.  The  means?  Get  out  of  this  hole!  the  pre- 
text  

I  found  it  when  the  two  chauffeurs  recommenced 
their  old  story : 

"Oh !  our  machine — how  it  is  being  riddled !" 

"You,"  I  said  to  him,  "you  sicken  me  with  your 
machine.  I'll  wager  that  there  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  it.  Go  and  see  and  we'll  find  out  for  certain ! 
It  is  not  an  order  that  I  give  you,  but  only  that  when 
the  question  is  settled  in  your  mind,  you  will  leave  us 
in  peace " 

The  cannonade  grew  worse  at  this  moment  and  there 
was-  a  literal  downpour  of  shells  in  the  village 

"You  are  not  going?  Then  I'm  going  myself — 
and  at  least  I  will  not  have  to  listen  to  you  any 
longer " 

I  started  toward  the  stairs  when  I  heard  LeBlond's 
voice  in  back  of  me,  which  said: 

"You  are  crazy — you  have  vowed  to  get  killed — it 
is  suicide " 

I  looked  him  in  the  eyes,  to  the  depth  of  his  soul, 
and  murmured: 

"I've  got  to — I  want  to  go.      Stay  here !" 

I  went  out.  Nothing  was  said,  but  all  looked  at 
me,  stupefied 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  133 

Ah !  mes  enfants,  how  it  fell ! 

Wlien  I  took  the  first  steps  outside  my  legs  trembled 
and  I  believed  I  would  be  incapable  of  accomplishing 
the  task  I  had  imposed  upon  myself.  Fear  shook  me. 
I  walked  along  the  street.  Gradually  I  felt  stronger. 
Suddenly,  after  a  few  minutes'  walk,  I  felt  as  calm  as 
if  I  had  been  walking  along  a  promenade  at  Nice 

Despite  the  flurry,  the  smoke  and  brick  dust  which 
I  had  to  breathe,  I  continued  the  route,  taking  pleasure 
in  my  folly,  experiencing  an  unhealthy  and  dangerous 

joy 

Soon,  I  found  myself  at  the  side  of  the  machine 
which  had  not  been  touched,  but  an  unexploded  100- 
shell  was  half  buried  on  its  flank 

I  lifted  the  shell  out  and,  carrying  it  in  my  arms, 
took  the  road  for  the  shelter.  The  returning  was 
effected  like  my  going,  through  a  cloud  of  dust  and 
smoke  of  bursting  projectiles.  Never  had  a  walk  done 
me  so  much  good  and  when  I  entered  the  dugout  with 
my  "precious  souvenir"  I  thought: 

"This   time   I   am  armored !" 

I  walked  through  the  group  of  men  and  deposited 
the  shell  on  the  captain's  table. 

"What  was  that  you  said?  You  are  both  chumps 
and  your  machine  is  uninjured,  but  I  found  this  along- 
side of  it.  I  make  you  a  present  of  it  so  it  will  be 
a  reminder  of  to-day " 

And  immediately  they  smiled  and  became  themselves 
again 


134  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


K.    C,    VERDUN. 

February  28,  1916. 

It  is  night,  but  a  terrible  night — the  battle  is  un- 
chained. The  heavens,  black  as  ink,  are  brightened 
each   instant   by   the   flashes    of   explosions. 

German  shell  which  fall  in  the  city  make  a  louder 
noise  than  during  the  preceding  daye,  as  if  they  broke 
in  a  cellar 

Not  a  cry — not  a  wail — stoicism 

On  the  roads  around  the  city  there  is  a  great  bustle 
of  camions,  gun  carriages  and  caissons.  Then  there 
is  the  hasty  shuffling  of  troops  going  into  action  to- 
night, and  who  will  relieve  their  comrades  holding  the 
line  over  there. 

All  these  movements  are  made  silently,  without 
cries,  without  useless  words,  but  everything  moves 
rapidly 

I  direct  myself  toward  the  city,  when  suddenly  a 
small  machine  stops  at  my  side.  A  man  of  athletic 
stature,  who  was  seated  at  the  chauffeur's  side,  jumps 
lightly  out  of  the  machine  and  approaches  me. 

He  flashes  his  electric  pocket  lamp,  no  doubt  to  see 
who  I  am.  At  first  I  had  taken  him  for  an  English- 
man, by  reason  of  his  khaki  uniform. 

"Officer.?"  he  said  to  me. 

"Yes,  what  can  I  do  for  you.?     You  are  English.?" 

"No,  American." 

"American !" 

"Yes,  I'm  a  K.  C." 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  135 

''Casse!*    Who  is  it  that  is  hurt?" 

I  said  this  with  such  an  accent  of  chagrin  and  al- 
most of  despair,  that  he  broke  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"No,  not  casse,  but  K.  of  C,"  and  he  held  up  his 
sleeve  on  which  were  found  the  two  letters. 

He  then  spoke  volubly  enough  in  English,  of  which 
I  could  not  understand  a  single  word,  but  which  cer- 
tainly must  have  been  of  lively  interest,  to  judge  by 
the  heat  of  his  discourse.  Fortunately  he  continued 
in  French: 

"Lost  the  road " 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"Fort  SouvHle " 

"What  are  you  doing.'"' 

"We  are  picking  up  the  wounded  of  the  Second 
Army.     We  must  go  quick "f 

"Yes,  time  is  money " 

*'No,  time  is  blood." 

"I  will  give  you  one  of  my  men  who  will  accompany 

you Thicbaut,    take    these    gentlemen    to    Fort 

Souville,  by  the  Etain  road " 

"Thank  you!" 

"One  second !  I  wish  I  could  talk  English  so  that 
I  could  commend  you  for  what  you  are  doing.  Then, 
you  Americans  have  crossed  the  ocean  to  mix  in  this 
hell  and  to  succor  our  wounded Wait!     You  are 


*  Casse  means  wounded,  hurt  or  smashed,  and  when  pronounced 
sounds  very  much  like  *  K.C." — Tr. 

f  This  is  the  first  time  the  author  saw  a  member  of  the  Knights 
of  Columbus  actively  engaged  in  succoring  wounded  at  the  im- 
mediate front. — Tr. 


136  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

a   fine   type,   and   I    am   proud   to   grasp   your  hand! 
Good  luck !" 

"Good-bye — Good  luck  to  youl" 


SOUrLLY. 

February  28,  1916. 

An  uninterrupted  file  of  camions  extends  from 
Bar-le-Duc  to  Verdun.  It  is  like  an  endless  chain 
which  never  stops  day  or  night. 

A  poilu,  who  is  breaking  stones  in  the  road,  says  to 
his  neighbor: 

"This'  battle  will  be  called  in  history,  'the  Battle  of 
Camions.'  " 


THE    DETERMINED    POILUS,    VEEDUN,    BEVAUX    BAfiRACKS, 

March  1,  1916. 

I  have  just  left  "General  Quarters"  and  meet  two 
poilus  of  the  20th  Corps. 

"Where  are  the  trenches?" 

"What  trenches .?" 

"The  trenches  where  they  are  fighting." 

"We  are  returning  from  vacation  and  want  to  be 
in  it!" 

"It  is  twelve  miles  from  here." 

"We  can  do  that  easily  on  foot — we  will  be  guided 
by  the  sound  of  the  cannon." 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  137 

THE  SUMMIT  OF  DEAD  MAn's  HILL, 

March  2,  1916. 

There  Is  nothing  to  say,  but  we  desired  to  keep  in 
touch  with  sonic  poilus  in  a  bombardment  dugout  225 
yards  from  the  spot  where  we  now  are.  The  communi- 
cating trench  is  blocked  up  and  it  is  in  full  view  that 
we  have  to  leap  over  tliis  stretch  of  ground 1 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  the  day,  but  one  could  yet 
see  very  well.  Scarcely  had  we  gone  a  step  along  the 
road  to  Bethincourt  than  Gueneau,  LeBlond  and  myself 
were  seen  by  the  bodies.  They  turned  their  cannon 
and  machine-guns  on  us — yes,  three  105's  which  came 
over  seemed  deposited  by  hand.  The  first  covered  us 
with  earth  at  some  yards  to  our  left;  the  second  fell 
a  short  distance  to  the  right  on  the  edge  of  the  road. 

"Let's  get  out  of  here,  les  copains,*  fifty  yards 
farther — quick !" 

In  a  few  bounds  we  were  away  from  that  dangerous 
spot.  The  third  shell  burst,  in  effect,  exactly  on  the 
place  we  had  just  left 

We  are  at  this  instant  at  the  point  where  the  road 
from  Bethincourt  starts  to  the  top  of  Dead  Man's 
Hill.  A  little  wagon*  is  turned  upside-down,  with  the 
stiffened  remains  of  the  horse  and  its  swollen  belly  still 
in  the  shafts. 

We  just  had  time  to  crawl  into  a  shell-hole  behind 
the  carcass  which  hid  us  from  the  enemy  and  served 

i*  A  familiar  expression,  friends  or  companions. — Tr. 


138  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

as  a  shield.     Our  protector  gave  off  nauseating  puffs 
of  a  very  rich  scent; 

"It  is   drSle,"  observed  Gueneau,  "that  Dead  Man 
is  nothing  but  a  rotting  horse!" 


carnaval!   dead  man's  hill, 
March  7,  1916. 

The  cannonade  was  elaborate  to-day —  What  desola- 
tion !  This  moonlighted  scenery  would  sadden  you  pro- 
foundly— enough  that  man  be  that  heartless  he  can 
utterly  destroy  and  ruin  nature  beautiful,  even  to  the 
very  roots.  The  machine-guns  sputter  intermittently. 
Someone  shouts: 

"Ah!     Wonderful!     How  strange  it  is!" 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"Lieutenant,  to-day  is  Mardi  GrasT 


IMAGINATIVE   EXPRESSIONS,   VERDUN. 

March,  1916. 

The  sector  Is  being  frightfully  bombarded   and  all 

one  can  do  is  to  wait  for  the  attack 

"Good  morning,  mon  petit,  is  it  going? " 

"Yes,  lieutenant,  it's  bad  in  the  aquarium — has  been 
that  way  all  morning.  I've  changed  my  sex  three  times 
since  you  saw  me  a  short  while  ago " 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  \^RDUN  BATTLE  139 

MY    OEDERLY    HABEBT,   VEEDUN. 

March,  1916. 

I  have  just  returned  from  Verdun,  worn  out  by 
fati^e,  at  the  beginning  of  the  afternoon,  with  the  idea 
of  getting  a  few  hours  sleep  in  the  silent  and  empty 
house  of  Monsieur  Louis.  Habert,  alone,  had  not  left 
it.  I  had  taken  him  as  an  orderly  for  the  reason  he 
was  the  father  of  five  children.  Besides,  he  is  not  a 
warrior  and  it  is  plainly  uncomfortable  for  him  to 
wait  on  us  when  the  shells  break  around  Rue  sur-Veau* 
I  am  dying  with  envy  to  get  into  bed.  I  climb  the 
stairs  to  the  first  floor  where  the  bed  is  made.     Habert 

has  found  a  pretext  not  to  accompany  me 

The  shells  whistled  angrily  and  fell  thick  and  fast 
on  the  city.  They  seemed  to  say:  "All!  you  wish  to 
sleep — but  just  try  it."     At  the  end  of  a  few  seconds 

I  slept  profoundly 

What  good  sleep,  what  a  deep  sleep,  during  which 

Death  itself  would  come  without  one  knowing  it 

I  had,  nevertheless,  the  vague  sensation  of  having 
been  shaken  and  left  dizzy  by  an  explosion  that  pre- 
vented my  making  a  movement.  I  finished  by  opening 
my  eyes.  The  room  was  yet  filled  with  dust  and  smoke ; 
the  window  frame  and  part  of  the  wall  were  thrown 
on  the  quilt!  It  was  with  difficulty  that  I  could  ex- 
tricate myself  and  I  shouted: 
"Habert !  Habert !" 
Not  a  reply 

*  A  street  in  Verdun. — ^Tr. 


140  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

Immediately  I  imagined  that  the  poor  boy  had  been 
killed.  My  clothes  had  been  scattered  around  the  room 
and  I  descended  the  stairs  four  at  a  time  without  taking 
the  time  to  even  put  on  m^^  trousers 

"Habert !     Habert !" 

He  wasn't  in  the  dining-room,  nor  in  the  kitchen 
where  there  were  some  broken  glasses 

I  opened  the  cellar  door.  The  rascal  was  behind  it 
with  a  bottle  of  my  prune  brandy  in  one  hand  and  a 
little  glass  in  the  other 

"Nom  de  Dieu!  I  catch  you  at  it !  You  carry  away 
and  drink  my  prune  brandy  while  your  lieutenant  is 
shelled  in  bed.  To-morrow  j^ou  will  go  into  the  first- 
line  trenches,  miserable — to  the  trenches,  you  under- 
stand me " 

I  read  in  his  mocking  eyes  with  his  half-penitent 
air: 

"I'm  easy  about  it,  you  like  my  chicken  fricassee  too 
well." 


A   EEGAL    DINNER,   VERDUN. 

March,  1916. 

"Habert,  we  have  as  guests  to-night,  two  colonels ! 
Dinner  on  the  table  at  seven  o'clock  and  let  everything 
be  perfect. 

"Your  assistant  and  yourself  will  be  in  white  from 
head  to  foot:  breeches,  jacket,  socks,  shoes  and  white 
gloves." 

"Good,  lieutenant." 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  141' 

"That  is  not  all — wait  before  you  speak — rice 
powder  on  your  hair,  so  that  it  will  ali  be  regal — your 
hair  well  combed.    Have  you  got  a  comb?" 

"Yes,  lieutenant." 

"By  the  way,  you  have  never  told  me — do  you  know 
how  to  use  a  tooth  brush.'' " 

*'To  shine  the  brass.''" 

"They  use  them  also  for  other  things — I  want  a 
candelabrum  on  the  table  and  have  the  candlesticks 
polished.  Now  for  the  menu —  No,  I  forgot  the  flowers. 
You  will  find  them  in  the  basket  that  came  from  Bar- 
le-Duc  with  the  provisions —  Where  was  I.''" 

"The  menu,  lieutenant." 

"Ah,  yes.  Appetizers — four  or  five  different  kinds — 
oysters,  tomato  soup,  grilled  sole,  chicken  fricassee — 
your  specialty — goose  livers  and  romaine  salad,  fruit, 
dessert,  coffee. 

"Wine!  The  best  that  pere  Louis  has  left  us — with 
the  goose  livers,  the  champagne — with  coffee  my  prune 
brandy,  but  be  ready  and  if  I  call  you  be  prompt.  A 
roaring  fire  on  the  hearth —  Good !" 

"Lieutenant,  I  do  not  believe  that  will  be  enough — 
I  would  serve  a  steak  before  the  chicken " 


At  the  appointed  time  we  go  to  search  for  Colonels 
Peigne  and  Benoit,  who  have  not  left  the  cellars  in  the 
Citadel  since  the  beginning  of  the  offensive,  tliat  is  to 
say  for  three  weeks — and  they  underwent  a  nerve-rack- 
ing siege  of  it 

We  brought  them  through  the  city  and  then  "home" 


142  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

by  the  Ruc-sur-Veau.  During  the  meal  we  thanked  them 
several  times  for  having  accepted  our  modest  repast  so 
graciously. 

Ah !  Our  "modest  dinner !"  And  we  all  "vaccinated 
the  tomato"  as  Habert  called  it.  Soon  there  was  no 
thought  of  bombardment  and  all  the  preoccupations — 
What  a  feast ! 


They  spoke  of  it  a  long  time,  it  appears,  in  the  humid 
cellars  of  the  Citadel.  .  .  . 

THE   PILLAGER,   VERDUN. 

March,  1916. 

It  is  night!  I  have  just  walked  through  Verdun, 
which  is  always  being  bombarded.  As  I  was  passing 
in  front  of  a  house,  I  heard  a  noise  inside,  the  door 
was  half-open — I  entered  the  hallway 

In  the  bedroom  at  the  side  there  was  a  series  of 
loud  noises  as  if  someone  was  trying  to  move  furni- 
ture  

I  open  the  door.  I  flash  my  electric  torch  and  per- 
ceive a  soldier  lugging  a  large  wooden  chest  like  a  com- 
mon house  thief. 

He  has  not  seen  me,  but  turns  brusquely  at  the  flash 
of  the  light.  He  is  kneeling  on  the  floor  and  regards 
me  fixedl3^ 

"What  are  you  doing  there.''  Surely  it  is  your  sister's 
house  or  you  wouldn't  be  kneeling  that  way !  Perhaps 
I  interrupt  you.'"' 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  143 

He  shot  me  a  wicked  glance  and  looked  furious  at 
having  been  caught  in  flagrant  wrong. 

"That's  not  right,  what  you're  doing  there,  no,  it's 
not  right." 

"I  do  nothing  wrong,  I  came  here  to  sleep  for  a  few 
hours  on  a  bed !" 

"In  the  meanwhile  you  make  enough  clatter  to  wake 
the  neighbors,  if  there  are  any,   and  visit   the  store- 


"I'm  doing  nothing  wrong,  I  assure  you " 

"We  will  talk  it  over !  I  am  wondering  why  I  didn't 
blow  out  your  brains  when  I  found  you  pillaging  the 
home  of  poor  people —  Here  you  soil  the  glory  and 
honor  of  your  comrades.     Go !  you  disgust  me  !" 

"Me  also,  I  have  been  through  hell  like  the  others, 
and  perhaps  to-morrow  I  shall  be  killed — yes,  I  will  be 
killed,  I  swear  it.  I'm  honest — I  no  longer  know  what 
I'm  doing.  It's  true  it's  not  right.  What  must  I  do.? 
I've  seen  all  sides  of  it — I  know  no  more.  Arrest  me — 
here  I  am !" 

"Go  join  your  comrades!  Go  quick.  You  have  time 
to  make  reparation — you  know  what.  This  secret  will 
rest  between  you  and  me.     Now  go !" 

The  man  took  himself  away  without  daring  to  look 
back  and  I  watched  him  disappear  into  the  night 


144  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

PRECIPITOUS    DEPARTURE,   VERDUN. 

March,  1916. 

To-day  I  returned  to  Verdun,  and  LeBlond  and  I 
have  taken  a  rest  in  the  comfortable  home  of  M.  and 
Mme.  Louis. 

These  worthy  persons  quit  the  city  with  the  former's 
sister,  Mme.  Joannie,  and  Habert,  our  orderly,  watches 
the  premises. 

We  have  just  received  a  letter  from  Mme.  Joannie 
dated  at  Bar-le-Duc,  recounting  at  length  her  terror 
and  vexation  happily  over.  She  must  have  left  so  pre- 
cipitously the  necessaries  and  also  the  superfluities ! 
She  requested  us  to  make  a  visit  to  her  room  and  for- 
ward the  more  important  objects  we  should  come 
across. 

We  then  entered  her  room  and  apart  from  a  few 
broken  glasses  everything  was  still  arranged  as  it  was 
on  the  day  of  her  departure.  Dresses,  trinkets,  yellow 
photographs,  stuffed  animals,  dignifiedly  seemed  to  be 
awaiting  her  return 

In  a  corner  of  the  sideboard — her  false  teeth !  Poor, 
poor  Mme.  Joannie,  you  must  have  been  afraid  to  have 
abandoned  them ! 

"She  was  afraid  of  swallowing  them,"  said  Habert, 
between  his  teeth. 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  145 

THE    POILU   WHO   LOOKED   FOR   A   "gOOd"   WOUND. 
VERDUN    (right    BANk). 

March,  1916. 

We  are  at  work  in  a  narrow  position,  at  the  en- 
trance to  Tavannes  Tunnel.  The  bombardment  is  in- 
cessant and  the  air  this  morning  is  saturated  with  that 
odor  of  ether  and  sour  apples  which  we  have  all 
breathed  down  there 

One  of  my  poilus,  his  helmet  resting  on  his  ears, 
strikes  a  blow  with  ardor,  although  he  appears  to  be 
in  a  very  bad  humor,  I  assure  you —  There  is  no  doubt 
about  it  for  a  single  instant,  seeing  him  sink  the  stakes 
anchoring  the  wire  entanglement  with  heavy  blows  of 
the  hammer  as  if  he  wanted  to  smash  them 

A  105  arrived,  breaking  a  few  yards  from  him,  a 
large  fragment  skidded  on  the  ground,  hitting  him  on 
the  head 

I  see  the  man  make  a  bound  and  fall  flat  on  the 
ground 

With  his  two  hands  he  tears  off  his  blue  helmet, 
completely  crushed,  and,  contemplating  it  with  bitter- 
ness, cries  out: 

"Damn! — with  that,  I'll  never  be  sent  to  the  rear!" 

THE   POETIC    POILU. 

March,  1916. 

In  a  dirty  sector  on  a  beautiful,  sunshiny  day 

"Ah!  there  you  are,  mon  gros,  why  are  you  all 
dressed  up.'"' 


146  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

"I  leave  on  vacation,  lieutenant." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"Paris." 

"Lucky  fellow !  When  you  get  there  what  will  give 
you  the  greatest  pleasure  after  all  the  hardships  you 
have  endured?" 

"A  woman's  smile!" 


THE  POILU  WHO  NEVER  SMILES,  VEUDUN. 

March,  1916. 

This  morning  I  was  with  a  group  of  soldiers,  laugh- 
ing and  joking  with  them.  The  newspapers  had  brought 
us  good  news  and  our  joy  manifests  itself  in  loud  bursts 
of  laughter 

A  man  was  seated  aside  from  the  others  and  had 
an  absent  and  gloomy  look.  My  attention  had  been 
drawn  immediately  by  the  expression  of  despair  which 
one  could  easily  read  on  his  features.  I  lowered  my 
voice  and  said: 

"Look,  sergeant,  what  is  the  matter  with  that  poilu? 
He  cannot  enjoy  himself  and  laugh  like  the  others? 
His  face  is  drawn  and  pale !  Can  you  explain  that " 

"Well,  lieutenant,  one  night  he  had  instructions  that 
were  not  clear  and  a  patrol  came  back  into  our  lines. 
He  believed  it  was  the  boches  and  fired.  He  killed  a 
close  friend 

*'From  that  time  he  has  always  been  sad  and  several 
times  I  noticed  he  cried  at  night.  You  will  see, 
one  of  these  days  he  will  do  away  with  himself " 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  147 


HOW   THEY   LIVE   AND   HOW  THEY   DIE, 
TAVANNES  TUNNEL, 

March,  15,  1916. 

Tavannes  Tunnel,  everyone  will  tell  you,  leaves  a 
memory  of  hell.  It  constitutes  a  natural  shelter  for 
troops  in  reserve  in  the  sector  of  Vaux.  The  enemy 
bombarded  the  extremities  of  the  Tunnel  with  gas  shell 
and  those  of  a  large  caliber 

During  the  long  months  we  had  dead  piled  up  at 
the  entrance  to  these  villainous  holes,  because  access 
was  had  by  means  of  two  passageways,  opening  to 
the  sky,  wdth  each  side  of  the  rocky  walls  very 
abrupt 

When  sheU  burst  in  this  limited  space,  it  was  im- 
possible to  get  under  cover  and  the  corpses  of  our  dead 
accumulated  at  the  two  outlets  of  the  Tunnel! 

Those  who  met  in  Tavannes  Tunnel  must  have  hated 
the  spot.  They  groped  around  blindly  awaiting  any- 
thing ! 

At  times,  I  believed  myself  that  I  would  be  one  of 
these  kind  of  bugs,  black  and  stinking,  that  one  crushed 
under  foot! 

*     *     * 

One  day  the  moment  arrived  to  send  re-inforcements 
to  a  place  very  near  there.  There  was  nothing  to 
say  but  get  going  immediately !  A  sergeant  took  com- 
mand of  the  little  column 

"Forward,  mes  enfants!" 


148  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

The  cannonade  raged  and  it  was  "bad"  outside- — 
The  150  timed-shell  and  the  big  210  percussion  shell 
followed  each  other  rapidly,  searching  out  the  more 
nervy  ones 


The  sergeant  left  the  Tunnel  first,  briskly  ascending 
the  incline,  believing  he  was  followed  by  his  men.  He 
turns  and  perceives  they  are  not  there — yet ! 

"Nom  de  Dieu!  what  are  you  doing,  you  laggards ! 
Are  you  coming  to-day  or  to-morrow!" 

They  came  out,  the  poilus,  but  with  head  and  back 
bent  as  if  under  a  shower  of  rain.  They  hurried,  with- 
out precipitation,  because  of  the  steep  climb.  Now 
that  they  have  left  the  Tunnel,  they  are  all  right 

They  creep  along  worm-like  and  the  file  of  men,  like 
beads  on  a  rosary,  extends  from  the  entrance  to  the 
Tunnel  to  the  waiting  sergeant. 

Suddenly  an  explosion,  flurry,  smoke — right  in  their 
midst,  les  pauvres! 

For  some  instants  they  all  disappear  in  the  cloud 
— but  there  is  "horizon  blue,"  crumpled  bodies  and  a 
spinning  helmet 

Finally  the  cloud  clears  away ;  there  are  still  some 
men  around  him  and  the  sergeant  shouts  again : 

"Nom  de  Dieu!  you  laggards !  Are  you  coming  to- 
day or  to-morrow!" 

They  hurry  on,  striding  over  the  bodies  of  their 
comrades   who  have   fallen 


^ 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  149 

ANXIOUS    HOURS,    VERDUN. 

March,  1916. 

To-night  we  sent  one  of  our  men  to  the  Citadel  of 
Verdun  to  send  a  package  of  papers  to  Colonel  Benoit. 

We  were  at  table — Habert  lighted  the  lamp  and 
night  had  fallen.  Our  orderly  had  scarcely  placed  the 
rabbit  stew  on  the  table  than  three  violent  raps  were 
heard  at  the  door. 

An  old  Territorial,  with  a  dejected  air,  entered  the 
dining-room,  and  we  saw  by  his  bearing  he  came  to 
announce  a  misfortune 

"What  is  it  you  have,  mon  petit?" 

"Are  you  Lieutenant  Capart.?'* 

"Yes " 

"I  am  returning  your  papers — we  found  them  on 
the  man  who  carried  them — he  has  just  been  killed  and 
your  name  was  seen  at  the  top  of  the  papers  and  I 
brought  them  to  you." 

"Our  sapper  has  been  killed!     How  did  it  happen.?" 

"The  shell  struck  him  squarely,  killing  three  other 
poilus.  He  is  in  shreds,  lieutenant.  Good  night, 
lieutenant " 

LeBlond  and  I  were  astounded  at  the  death  of  this 
brave  boy,  who  had  just  left  us.  With  sadness  we 
turned  over  the  papers  in  his  handwriting  and  covered 
with  his  blood.  Habert's  features  were  pale  and  de- 
jected. 

The   news   extinguished   our   appetites   and  we    sat 


150  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

gloomy  and  silent  before  the  excellent  meal  Habert  had 
prepared  for  us 

An  hour  later  one  of  our  poilus  arrived  by  the  Rue- 
sur-Veau,  and  said  to  us: 

"You  know  the  news?" 

"Yes,  we  have  heard  the  sad  thing — Pauvre 
petit " 

"He  sends  his  respects  to  you,  lieutenant,  and  asks 
if  you  have  received  your  papers  all  right " 

''Voyons,  voyons — whom  are  you  talking  about?'* 

"But — about  your  secretary " 

"We  were  just  informed  he  had  been  killed " 

"No,  lieutenant !  he  was  slightly  wounded  in  the  arm 
and  will  be  away  a  few  days  on  leave.  These  Terri- 
torials from  the  South  of  France  always  see  the  dark 
side  of  things " 

Our  supper  was  spoiled  that  night,  but  we  breathed 
easier 


coco,  VEBDUN. 

March  25,  1916. 

I  left  the  region  of  Verdun  to-day.  An  order  calls 
me  to  Paris.  I  decided  to  bring  Coco  with  me,  because 
Coco  is  the  "last  civilian  in  Verdun." 

The  poor  little  parrot  is  ill  at  ease  in  his  cage 
since  Madame  Louis  went  away  and  since  the  bombard- 
ment of  the  city  began. 


FIRST  MONTHS  OF  THE  VERDUN  BATTLE  151 

When  window  panes  were  smashed  his  feathers 
bristled  up  and  his  frail  little  body  began  to 
tremble 

I  placed  the  cage  in  the  machine  that  takes  me  to 
Bar-le-Duc —  Repeatedly  during  the  journey  the  bird 
cries : 

"To  Hell  with  the  Crown  Prince !" 

It  is  surely  Habert  who  has  taught  him  this  new 
"song" 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

THE    RECAPTURE     OF     FORT    DOUAUMONT 
AND  THE  ATTACK  OF  PEPPER  HILL 


The  author  assisted  in  two  important  episodes 
of  the  great  war.  On  October  24-,  1916,  he  -flew  over 
Fort  Douaumont  with  Major  Armengaud  at  the  pre- 
cise "moment  the  poilus  swarmed  over  it  after  eight 
months'  of  incessant  battle.  The  first  men  who  entered 
Douaumont  were  the  same  sappers  of  the  19  th  Com- 
pany, 2nd  Engineers,  with  whom  the  author  fought  at 
Grande  Dune.     {Chaps.  I  and  III.) 

It  is  during  this  period  that  the  author  was  ap- 
pointed first  lieutenant  in  July  and  Captain  in  October 
after  the  capture  of  Douaumont. 

On  December  15,  1916,  Captain  Capart  was  at 
Pepper  Hill  during  the  victorious  advance  of  the 
French. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

STOEY    OF   A   PAIE    OF    BOOTS,    BAR-LE-DUC. 

June  6,  1916. 

I  HAVE  just  dined  with  General  Petain.  I  find  my- 
self in  the  little  home  of  M.  and  Mme.  Levy,  where 
I  have  put  up  during  the  last  days  of  our  sojourn 
in  this  city. 

I  occupy  a  pretty  room  looking  out  on  the  garden, 
at  which  I  look  every  morning  on  awakening 

Seated  on  my  bed,  I  do  not  think  of  sleep,  but  let 
my  thoughts  wander,  fixedly  regarding  the  flame  of  my 
candle ! 

All  at  once  my  eyes  rest  on  the  new  boots  wliich  I 
have  bought  the  same  morning  in  Paris. 

I  begin  to  laugh.  It  had  been  very  apparent  to  me 
that  all  my  comrades  had  admired  them 

Yes,  I  recall,  when  the  general  was  talking  to  me, 
I  heard  one  of  them  say  to  the  other: 

"What  wonderful  boots!" 


That  is  not  all!  I  got  ready  for  bed —  From  to- 
morrow a  new  life  opened  for  me — I  began  with  the 
boots. 

I  unlaced  them,  but  perceived  with  despair  that,  in 

155 


156  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

spite  of  energetic  efforts,  I  could  not  pull  them  off  my 
feet 

Unnerved  and  swearing  like  a  madman,  using  the 
furniture  as  a  buttress,  I  painfully  succeeded  in  getting 
one  off — but  the  other?     Impossible! 

This  damned  boot  did  not  seem  to  understand —  I 
heard  a  noise  in  the  room  above.  Decidedly  it  is  M. 
and  Mme.  Levy  who  are  frightened! 


The  next  day  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  my 
orderly,  Lefevre,  entered  my  room.  He  opened  his 
mouth  very  wide  on  finding  his  lieutenant  in  a  pretty 
white  bed,  a  leg  swinging  over  the  side  with  a  new 
boot  on  it 


MY  LIFE  BELONGS  TO  YOU  !      BAR-LE-DUC, 

June  8,  1916. 

"Capart !" 

I  turned  around.     It  is  he!     I  saluted  respectfully. 

"Are  you  settled?" 

"Yes,  general.  I  am  glad  for  this  opportunity 
alone  to  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  for  having  been 
appointed  by  you.  You  can  count  on  me  no  matter 
what  circumstance.  Ask  of  me  what  you  will,  my  life 
belongs  to  you,  general,  I  give  it  to  you " 

Our  glances  met,  and  he  said: 

"I  know  it." 


RECAPTURE  OF  FORT  DOUAUMONT     157 

THE  REGIMENT   WHICH   PASSES,    NETTANCOUJiT, 

July,  1916. 

The  sun  has  just  come  up — I  open  my  eyes.  I  am 
not  wrong,  it  is  the  blowing  of  bugles  that  wakens 
me 


I  jump  out  of  bed  and  fling  the  large  window  clear  up 
— my  room  is'  flooded  witli  light 

It  is  a  regiment  which  is  passing — it  comes  straight 
from  Dead  Man's  Hill.  Our  poilus  are  tanned,  but 
their  faces  are  worn 

"My  poor  poilus,  your  uniforms  are  covered  with 
dry  mud,  but  you  are  magnificent !" 

The  band  plays  "Sambre  and  Meuse"  and  I  am  so 
affected  that  I  throw  myself  on  the  bed  and  sob  like 
a  child. 

A    LITERAL    TRANSLATION,    CAMP    MAILLY. 
July,   1916. 

I  was  assisting  at  some  trench-mortar  tests  which 
have  lasted  several  days.  The  President  of  the  Re- 
public, accompanied  by  a  large  suite,  honored  us  by  his 
visit  to-day. 

The  camp  presented  an  extremely  unique  aspect  by 
reason  of  the  great  number  of  Russian  officers  and 
men,  which  one   sees  everywhere. 

Out  of  consideration  for  the  visit  of  M.  Poincare, 
a  Russian  Battalion  gave  an  exhibition  drill.  When 
the  President  passed  it  in  review,  the  Slavic  troops 


158  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

became  clamorous'.  They  shouted  in  Russian  some- 
thing which  must  have  meant: 

"Long  live  the  President  of  the  French  Republic." 
From  their  gestures  one  of  our  poilus  was  explain- 
ing the  meaning  to  one  of  his  comrades  in  back  of  me. 
"Hear  what  the  Russians  said  to  the  President: 
"  'You  have  seen  me  in  the  little  bar  around  the 
corner.'  " 

AS  THEY  GO,  A  LITTLE  VILLAGE  IN  THE  ARGONNE. 

August,  1916. 

The  priest  of  R has  invited  me  to  have  coffee 

with  him.  The  kindly  old  man  saw  the  German  inva- 
sion in  1914.  He  had  been  rudely  treated  in  his  native 
hamlet,  and  he  appeared — when  one  saw  the  ruins — to 
have  had  many  days  of  grief.  Two  days  of  battle  and 
this  was  all  he  knew  of  war! 

The  bodies,  on  retiring,  had  set  fire  to  four  corners 
of  the  village  and  everything  had  been  burned,  save 
his  church  where  he  permitted  some  German  wounded 
to  seek  shelter. 

Our  troops  triumphantly  entered  the  smoking  ruins 
of  the  village  at  night 

"My  brave  boys,"  the  priest  said  to  them,  "I  em- 
brace you  and  thank  God " 

The  poilus,  stirred  with  the  feverish  lust  of  pursuit, 
demanded : 

"Any  Germans  here?" 

One  of  the  men,  gone  completely  mad,  shouted: 

"Wliere  are  they.?  I'll  stick  this  bayonet  through 
'em " 


RECAPTURE  OF  FORT  DOUAUMONT     159 

Then  someone  said : 

"There  are  wounded  in  the  church." 

"I  pleaded  with  them,"  the  old  priest  said. 

"My  children,  they  are  our  enemies,  but  respect  the 
wounded !" 

"The  wounded!"  roared  the  other,  "the  wounded! 
I'll  cut  'em  to  pieces !" 

"They  all  followed  me  like  a  pack  of  hounds,"  the 
priest  went  on,  "and  I  prayed  to  God  for  aid. 

"The  first  one  we  saw,  on  entering  the  church,  was 
a  Bavarian  stretched  out  in  a  pool  of  blood.  Rolling 
his  eyes  up  at  me,  he  muttered: 

"  'A  drink — I'm  thirsty ' 

"  'No7n  de  Dieu,'  father,  so  you  let  your  wounded  die 
of  thirst — that's  a  rotten  trick !  Here !  drink  this — 
you !'  the  poilu  said,  handing  his  canteen  to  the 
boche " 


he!  nettancourt. 

August,  1916. 

"Since  you  are  fighting  near  him — what  is  hef* 
"Persevering; 
"Energetic  ; 
"Triumphant; 
"Ardent ; 
"Intrepid  ; 
"Nil-meliorr* 

*The  first  letter  of  each  word  spells  Petain,  the  general  who 
assumed  command  at  Verdun,  finally  breaking  the  thrust  of  the 
Crown  Prince  actually  being  maneuvered  at  this  time.  Geiieral 
Petain's  strategy  upset  the  boche  plans,  causing  them  to  abandon 
Verdun  as  a  by-road  to  Paris. — Tr. 


160  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


THE   OLD   TEREITORIAL    ON   SENTRY   DUTY   AT   THE 
MONTMIRAL   RAILROAD   CROSSING. 

September,  1916. 

I  left  Paris  during  the  night  in  an  automobile  and 
am    returning    to    General    Quarters.      I    have    fallen 

asleep  on  the  way 

A  brusque  stop !     I  open  my  eyes 

An   old   territorial   flashes   a   lantern   in   my   face — 
a  railroad   track  crossed  the  road 


"What  is  the  name  of  this  place,  mon  petit?" 
"This  place,  captain,  is — the  railroad  crossing!" 


THE  EVE  OF  THE  RECAPTURE  OF  FORT  DOUAUMONT. 

October  23,  1916. 

Major  Armengaud  and  I  left  Nettancourt  this  morn- 
ing by  airplane  to  assist  in  the  operations  about  to 
be  unloosed  before  Verdun. 

The  weather  is  uncertain  and  some  large  running 
clouds  are  above  us.  Before  landing  at  Lemme,  it  had 
been  decided  that  we  would  make  a  short  incursion 
over  the  lines 

Here  is  the  Meuse !  The  two  banks  of  the  battle- 
field appear  to  me  yellowish  gray  with  the  Douau- 
mont  Hill  tinted  red. 

The  cannonade  is  raging — I  see  the  vivid  flashes  of 
shells  leaving  the  guns  and  I  hear  loud  detonations 
above  the  noise  of  the  motor 


Entrance  of  Fort  Donaumont  in  July  1915  and  April  1017. 


RECAPTURE  OF  FORT  DOUAUMONT     161 

The  weather  is  very  nasty !  Always  it  is  the  same 
thing.     It  will  surely  rain  to-night ! 

We  flew  above  St,  Michel  Hill  at  the  moment  when 
our  400  shell  fell  on  Douaumont  and  on  Vaux,  throw- 
ing up  columns  of  earth  and  smoke. 

From  Fort  Douaumont  rise  big  voluted  shafts  of 
smoke.  Fortunately  our  artillerymen  had  found  the 
joint  in  the  armor 

Not  a  boche  avion  in  the  air.  What  matter!  This 
spectacle  is  so  thrilling,  that,  for  the  moment,  my 
machine-gun  gets  very  little  use 

The  poilus  themselves  must  be  there  in  the  trenches, 
waiting  the  hour  of  attack.  I  cannot  see  them,  but 
my  heart  and  thoughts  go  out  to  them. 

I  had  the  impression  from  that  very  moment  the 
recapture   of  Fort   Douaumont   was   certain 

We  landed  in  about  an  hour  without  a  single  in- 
cident  

DOUAUMONT. 

October  24,  1916. 

It  is  maddening.  It  is  raining.  At  the  aviation 
field  where  I  am,  everj'body  is  effervescent.  The  first 
results  of  the  day  are  magnificent,  the  poilus  advanced 
along  the  entire  line ! 

Unluckily  it  is  necessary  to  renounce  any  thought 
of  flying  and  the  attendant  consternation  is  general. 
Some  "cuckoos"  essayed  to  go  up  in  the  driving  rain. 
They  kept  close  to  earth — they  flew  blindly  and  were 
shot  at  a  few  times 


162  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

We  must  remain  inactive  and  powerless  all  day,  when 
the  others  are  participating  in  the  fete! 

Toward  two-thirty   o'clock   the  dark   clouds   in   the 

south,  part The  "cuckoos"  leave  their  hangars, 

although  many  of  the  pilots  are  skeptical  of  the 
weather 

At  three-fifteen  a  blue  canopy  in  the  heavens — at 
last !  The  whirring  drowns  everything — everyone  hur- 
ries— one  after  the  other  they  shoot  out  and  take  the 

air.      Soon,   perhaps,   it   will   be   too   late After 

having  described  a  large  circle  over  the  field  to  gain 
altitude,   they   leave  in  groups,  going  northward 

Major  Armengaud  and  I  have  decided  to  leave  in  our 
turn.  I  am  really  thrilled,  I  avow,  at  the  idea  of 
flj^ing  during  the  battle 


Some  instants  after,  roads,  flat  stretches,  forests, 
flit  by  beneath  us.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes'  flight, 
we  were  in  a  rather  thick  mist — but  what  matter ! 

We  fly  over  the  Meuse  to  the  north  of  Verdun — 
we  are  4,000  feet  high  and  penetrate  a  tliick  cloud. 
We  reach  clear  space.  The  air  is  full  of  avians — 
there  are  more  than  eighty !  Chasse  squadrons  cross 
the  horizon.  The  "sausages"  are  all  up  as  usual. 
The  sky  is  marvelous.  There  are  vacant  spaces  of 
gilded  light  to  our  left — Verdun  is  somewhat  in  the 
haze.  To  the  north  the  sky  is  clear — I  see  the  most 
gorgeous  spectacle  that  my  eyes  have  ever  beheld! 
The  cannonade  thunders  and  a  thousand  flashes  burst 
from  the  mouths  of  our  guns.      Our  exploding  pro- 


RECAPTURE  OF  FORT  DOUAUMONT     163 

jectiles  form  a  regular  and  mobile  parabola,  marking 
the  advance  of  our  troops 

The  enemy  reacts  but  feebly  and  his  barrage  is  laid 
down  over  our  old  lines.  Shell-holes  filled  with  water 
appear  like  cups  brimming  with  molten  gold !  To  the 
west  the  sky  is  reddish  scarlet;  to  the  cast  all  is  steel 
blue 

We  return  closer  to  earth.  Our  barrage  has  gone 
beyond  Fort  Douaumont — our  400's  are  still  breaking 
on  Fort  Vaux;  great  columns  of  dirt  rise  more  than 
125  yards  in  height 

Douaumont  is  ours  ! 

I  jumped  straight  up  in  my  seat;  I  laughed,  I 
shouted,  I  wept 

Two  avians  flew  very  low.  The  daring  Captain  de 
Beauchamp  soared  over  the  du  Hely  ravine;  it  looked 
as  if  we  would  skid  along  the  ground 

We  circled  over  the  battlefield  like  a  great  bird  that 
has  discovered  its  prey  and  is  ready  to  sweep  on  it ! 

The  poilus  themselves,  whom  we  regarded  as  the 
messengers  of  victory,  swarmed  around  the  super- 
structure of  the  Fort  and  signaled  us !  They  waved 
their  handkerchiefs  and  flapped  their  great-coats  like 
birds'  wings  in  order  that  we  might  recognize  them. 

I  frequently  turned  to  Major  Armengaud,  shouting: 

"Douaumont,  Douaumont  is  ours !" 


Suddenly     our    motor     became     silent — Armengaud 
tapped  me  on  the  shoulder.     I  turned  and  he  cried: 
«We  must  land !" 


164  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

We  were  at  that  moment  at  a  fixed  altitude  and  I 
saw  Armengaud  twist  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  in  the 
fuselage,  looking  for  a  safe  spot  to  land 

All  at  once  the  wind  whistled  loudly  and  we  as- 
sumed a  dangerous  slant.  At  certain  moments  the 
machine  rocked— it  did  not  seem  to  be  going  ahead — 
then  it  recovered  its  nose. 

"I  do  not  see  a  place  to  put  it!"  Armengaud  cried: 

*'Douaumont,  Douaumont  is  ours !" 

It  did  not  matter  to  me,  although  we  fell;  it  was 
perhaps  death,  but — Douaumont  was  ours ! 

The  ground  seemed  to  approach  very  rapidly ; 
Major  Armengaud  guided  his  airplane  toward  a  little 
prairie  north  of  Dugny,  bordered  by  two  gullies.  We 
landed  easily  on  the  ground,  but  our  "cuckoo"  broke 
a  hidden  telephone  wire 

"Hein!  what  do  you  think  about  it,  Capart?" 

"Wliat  a  spectacle — you're  an  ace,  major!" 

I  jumped  at  the  same  moment  under  the  fuselage 
to  connect  the  telephone  wire  he  had  cut.  At  the  same 
time  the  major  examined  his  motor — it  was  a  trivial 
matter  and  soon  repaired! 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  we  got  the  motor  run- 
ning and  once  more  rose  in  the  air. 

Darkness  fell  and  the  atmosphere  was  biting  cold. 
The  wind  sang  in  the  wings  of  the  machine.  When  we 
reached  the  environs  of  Lemme,  above  the  forest,  it 
seemed  as  if  we  were  standing  still.  It  became  more 
and  more  obscure  and  I  asked  myself  how  we  could 
land.  It  was  black  below,  but,  here,  it  seemed  as  if 
we  flew  through  a  sea  of  blue.     The  woods  appeared 


RECAPTURE  OF  FORT  DOUAUMONT     165 

a  sombre  tint  and  the  mist  which  clung  to  the  branches 
looked  like  clusters   of  fleece  on   Christmas  trees 

The  little  lights  underneath  us  flickered  one  after 
the  other,  enlivening  the  vista  more  and  more  as  they 
grew  more  numerous.  Streams  of  camions  on  the  dif- 
ferent roads  resembled  long,  phosphorescent  worms 

Masses  of  clouds,  strung  out  like  attenuated  lawn 
veils,  fluttered  quickly  past,  between  us  and  the  ground, 
completing  the  fantastic  sketch 

I  turned  yet  again.  Back  of  us,  one  could  still 
perceive  the  last  scintillations  of  the  battle!  The 
bursting  shell,  which  we  heard  no  longer,  became  long, 
vivid  flames  that  rose  above  the  horizon 


During  those  hours  I  experienced  the  most  stirring 
moments  of  my  life,  and  one  of  the  greatest  epochs 
in  the  history  of  the  world  !     Thanks,  dear  bird ! 

We  arrived  above  the  aviation  field;  the  major 
shouted   at   me: 

"Lean  over  to  the  right  and  keep  your  eyes 
open " 

We  watched  the  ground  closely  so  as  not  to  be 
smashed.  What  matter,  once  more,  because  we  arc  still 
under  the  spell  of  the  sight  we  have  just  seen 

Descending  slowly,  our  eyes  commenced  to  be  ac- 
customed to  this  obscurity.  We  recognized  the  con- 
tour of  the  field,  and  our  old  "cuckoo"  dropped  gently 
on  earth 

And  that's  how  we  assisted  in  the  recapture  of  Fort 
Douaumont ! 


166  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


WHAT    PASSES   IN   YOUR  MIND  WHEN   FALLING 
10,000   FEET,  VADELAINCOURT. 

October  25,  1916. 

To-day  I  went  up  on  a  rocket  test  at  a  very  high 
altitude.  Suddenly  one  of  the  rockets  burst  in  the 
propeller,  and  it  snapped  like  a  pistol  shot — the  hori- 
zontal  rudder   also   was   damaged 

The  descent  commenced  by  great  jerks  and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  machine  would  collapse  and  fall  apart 

Flameng,  my  pilot,  made  a  sign  "that  it  could  go 

very   bad   with   us "      We   went   through    a  great 

cloud  and  I  began  to  believe  we  would  crash  to  earth. 
Despite  three  accidents  in  two  days,  this  will  be  very 
pretty,  I  say  to  myself.  I  thought  that  after  what 
I  had  seen  these  last  three  months,  it  would  be  abso- 
lutely idiotic  to  die  in  a  bed,  and  I  began  to  laugh  at 
the  idea 


The  ai>ion  lands  like  a  butterfly  on  a  prairie 

THE   MARQUIS  AND   THE   MARCHIONESS,    NETTANCOURT. 

November,  1916. 

We  had  gone  to  take  a  turn  around  Avocourt  Hill; 
the  air  was  magnificent.  We  were  7,000  feet  high 
directly  above  the  spot  we  were  going  to  land 

The  major  stopped  his  motor  and  commenced  to 
descend  in  circles ;  I  recognized  the  chateau,  the  village, 
the  station 


RECAPTURE  OF  FORT  DOUAUMONT     167 

On  a  road  in  the  fields,  a  man,  a  woman,  and  a  dog 
— even  at  this  altitude  it  was  impossible  not  to  know 
them,  the  three  characteristic  specimens  of  a  bygone 
age,  more   fanciful  than  Nature  herself! 

I  pointed  my  finger  toward  the  ground  so  that 
Major  Armengaud  might  see  them  also.  He  looked 
and  likewise  began  to  laugh 

I  swear,  it  was  drole:  like  three  big  flies  jigging  on 
the  bald  head  of  an  old  man! 


THE  MAN  WHO  KNOWS  THE  SECTOR  BETTER 
THAN  ANYONE,  AINES. 

December  1,  1916. 

I  am  not  sure  of  the  road.     It  is  night  and  as  we 

are  close  to  the  lines  I  stop  the  machine 

I  see  a  poilu  and  beckon  him  over. 
"Do   you   know  this   territory   well.'"' 

"I  know  this  sector  better  than  anyone " 

"How  is  that.?" 

"Because  I'm  the  gravedigger  of  the  Regiment!" 


PRISONER    CHATTER,    PEPPER    HILL. 

December  15,  1916. 

Night  falls — victorious  day — success  along  the  whole 

line I  go  by  foot  along  the  road  from  Louve- 

mont,  something  I  have  not  done  since  the  first  days 
of  the  battle  of  Verdun.     The  German  prisoners  and 


168  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

wounded,  in  their  field-gray  uniforms,  dirty  with  mud, 
descend  the  hill  in  little  groups,  their  arms  raised. 

Some  of  them  approach  our  men,  saying: 

"War  finished — War  finished!" 

"I  believe  you're  telling  tales,"  was  the  reply  of  a 
poilu. 


BRAS,   PEPPER   HILL. 

December  16,  1916. 

I  assisted  yesterday  the  second  attacking  party,  at 
Pepper  Hill. 

I  have  just  passed  the  night  at  Froideterre,*  which 
has  been  well  named—  At  dawn  the  sound  of  the 
battle  diminished.  On  leaving  the  shelter  where  I  had 
been  installed,  I  saw,  a  few  steps  away,  an  airplane, 
its  tail  in  the  air,  that  I  had  noticed  the  night  be- 
fore  

At  Brigade  Headquarters  I  was  asked  to  interrogate 
two  young  German  officers  who  had  been  captured  on 
the  backbone  of  Pepper  Hill 

I  go  back  to  Bras  over  the  same  route  that  I  came. 
The  ruins  of  the  village  are  flooded  with  mud.  For  a 
whole  year,  day  in  and  day  out,  I  was  once  at  Bras, 
but  then  it  was  a  pretty  village  with  inhabitants 

To-day  there  is  nothing  more  than  ruins,  mud  and 
dead  bodies 

*  Cold-Ground— Tr. 


RECAPTURE  OF  FORT  DOUAUMONT     169 


PRAYER  AT  NIGHT,  A  LITTLE  VILLAGE 
IN  SWITZERLAND, 

December  26,  1916. 

On  entering  the  door,  I  hear  Anne-Marie,  who  is  say- 
ing her  prayer  du  soir. 

"LiP  Jesus,  protect  papa,  who  is  at  war,  mamma,  my 
grandparents,  my  little  brothers " 

"Louder,  Anne-Marie,  the  good  God  is  neutral  and 
does  not  hear •"- 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 
THE  BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF  1917 


The  author  fell  seriously  ill  and  spent  several  weeks 
from  the  beginning  of  January,  1917,  in  the  hospital 
at  Chdlons-sur-M arne. 

At  the  end  of  February,  1917,  he  again  took  up  his 
•work  with  General  Petain. 

In  the  attack  of  Mont-sans-Nom,  he  accompanied 
the  Morocco  Division  (Champagne,  April  17,  1917). 

Captain  Capart  left  France  June  '2,  1917,  for  the 
United  States  as  a  member  of  a  Scientific  Mission  which 
collaborated  with  officials  of  this  Government  just 
two  months  after  America  became  an  Ally  against 
Prussianism. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

GENEEAIi  GOURAUd's  POILU,  CHAMI*AGNE, 

December  y  1916. 

GENERAL  GOURAUD,  when  speaking  of  his 
poilus,  never  fails  to  tell  the  following  story: 
"It  was  during  a  violent  bombardment —   The 

men  are  in  their  dugouts,  save  only  the  lookouts 

"One  of  them,  every  time  a  shell  broke  near  him, 
responded  with  a  shot  from  his  rifle,  so  that  several 
times  his  comrades,  passing  by  the  opening  in  the 
shelter,  got  ready  to  dash  out,  believing  the  enemy  was 
attacking.     Finally  they  shouted  at  him: 

"  Worn  de  Dieu,  what  do  you  mean  by  shooting  like 

that  with  your  rifle ' 

"  *Eh !  les  vieux,  I'm  laying  down  a  barrage !'  " 


NENETTE    AND    RINTININ  !      CHALONS-SUR-MARNE. 

March,  1917. 

**The  morale  of  our  poilus,^^  cried  our  comrade 
Delormes,  "is  simply  magnificent!"  I  have  just  bought 
some  writing  paper  at  the  store  of  petite  Antoinette, 
who  was  literally  jubilant  the  moment  I  entered  her 
shop.     She  received  a  letter  from  her  husband,  who  is 

173 


174  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

fighting  on  Maisons-de-Champagne  Hill.  She  made  me 
read  the  missive,  which  I  would  like  to  see  awarded 
a  prize  by  the  Academy : 

"Do  not  worry,  my  Nenette,"  it  read,  "we  will  beat 
these  brutes!  Here,  our  bowels  are  firm!  But  what 
•we  are  doing  to  them!     But  above  all,  don't  worry!" 

It  was  signed  "Rintintin!" 


AT   THE   HOSPITAL   OF   CHAUMONT-SUR-ERES. 

March,  1917. 

The  poor  boy  will  suffer  no  longer — he  passed  away 
quietly.  The  nurse  is  bent  over  him,  and,  one  after 
the  other,  closes  his  eyes 

She  is  deeply  moved  on  seeing  her  po'ilu  go !  This 
exquisite  creature,  wife  of  one  of  our  comrades,  loves 
her  wounded  with  all  her  soul ! 

Her  last  one  arrived  in  terrible  shape.  She  remained 
at  his  side  night  and  day.  Two  times  he  was  operated 
on.  At  times  he  was  better,  at  times  worse.  During 
his  first  moment  of  consciousness,  he  asked  that  his 
wife  be  summoned 

Wliat  difficulty  she  had  in  obtaining  a  complete  ad- 
dress and  formulating  a  telegram  according  to  his 
wishes !     Then  he  murmured : 

"She  will  not  arrive  too  late.'^" 

The  nurse  had  written  : 

"Your  husband  is  gravely  wounded ;  come  quick,  but 
hope  for  the  best." 

Wliat  a  painful  journey  she  would  have  to  endure! 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF   1917       175 

During  these  days  she  learned  a  little  more  of  the 
life  of  this  man.  Every  minute  she  went  to  see  if  the 
wife  had  not  come.     She  returned  close  to  him. 

"Be  assured,  rnon  brave,  you  will  get  better.  She  will 
come.     One  travels  with  difficulty  these  days " 

She  exaggerated  the  slowness  of  travel  and  he  ac- 
cepted what  she  told  him ;  but  he  whispered : 

"Urge  her,  madame,  to  come  more  quickly!" 

Then  she  became  impatient —  Why  did  she  not  come.? 
Some  instants  after  she  pitied  her:  surely  she  must 
have  had  great  obstacles — some  grim  sentinel  must  have 
stood  in  her  way — and  she  might  have  fallen  angry  her- 
self thinking  of  these  things. 

She  often  interrogated  the  doctor  and  told  liim  very 

softly : 

"I  wish  she  would  come  right  away !" 

She  knew  that  the  wife  of  her  poilu  had  three  babies 
to  care  for—  What  a  catastrophe  in  this  poor  laborer's 
home  if  he  never  returned. 

'  Soon  she  knew  there  was  no  longer  any  hope.  "At 
least,"  she  said  to  the  doctor,  "you  can  keep  him  alive 
— she  will  come " 

The  agony  was  long,  very  long  and  the  wife  did  not 
come.  She  sent  for  her  again.  What  could  be  the 
matter  ? 


On  seeing  her  dear  dead,  an  ineffable  sadness  en- 
grossed her  and  big,  silent  tears  fell  from  her  eyes 

An  attendant  approached  her— she  turned  her  head 
and  wiped  her  eyes 


176  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

"Someone  there  to  see  your  wounded,  madame — " 
said  the  man  who  did  not  know 

Paralyzed,  fixed  to  the  floor,  she  could  not  move. 
She  saw  coming  toward  her,  shrouded  in  an  impressive 
silence,  a  woman — one  of  those  women  of  France,  good 
mother,  good  wife,  good  patriot,  accustomed  from 
youth  to  go  through  a  harsh  and  bitter  life  as  the  wife 
of  a  laboring  man,  with  serenity 

She  went  straight  to  him.  The  nurse  followed  her 
with  her  glance.  She  could  no  longer  see  her  face,  but 
saw  the  woman  bend  a  great  while  over  her  dead.  Of 
what  was  she  thinking.?  Of  the  Calvary  of  her  man, 
of  his  wound,  of  his  agony,  or  rather  of  her  own  sad- 
ness, or  the  children  for  whom  she  would  have  to 
struggle 

She  turned  and,  coming  toward  her: 

"Is  it  you,  madame,  who  have  cared  for  him.'*  Per- 
mit me  to  kiss  you." 

It  was  the  nurse  who  wept 


THE    IRREVERENT    POILU, 

March,  1917. 

An  elite  Division  was  au  repos*  in  a  pretty  little  vil- 
lage on  the  Meuse  where  the  houses  are  gray  and  from 
where  one  can  hear  the  cannon  at  Verdun,  like  a  spring 
thunderstorm. 

General  Petain  has  gone  to  spend  a  few  hours  with 

*  Inactive,  reeting  after  having  been  in  battle. — Tr. 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF   1917       177 

these  heroes,  accompanied  by  my  worthy  comrade  de 
Buisseret. 

The  brave  poilus  do  not  permit  themselves  the 
pleasures  of  complete  inactivity.  Whatever  spot  they 
may  find  themselves  in,  they  organize  and  "dig  them- 
selves in"  as  if  they  must  remain  for  the  rest  of  their 
lives ! 

A  poilu  is  working  arduously  over  a  little  board  hut. 
He  has  running  around  him  two  of  his  "loves,"  small 
pigs,  plump  and  rosy.  It  is  understood  they  will  be 
eaten,  but  not  before  the  squad  finds  them  completely 
"a  point."*  While  waiting  it  is  necessary  to  keep  them 
in  a  shelter  and  our  poilu  will  quickly  finish  the  sump- 
tuous dwelling  for  his  favorites. 

My  comrade,  busy  looking  around  while  awaiting 
the  general,  becomes  interested  in  the  conscientious 
labors  of  the  man 

"Is  it  for  them  you  are  working?" 

"Yes,  captain,  I  am  making  them  a  wonderful  P.C." 


THE    GENDARMES     SOUP. 

March,  1917. 

I  return  from  Fort  Douaumont  and  am  worn  out. 
An  automobile  is  coming  to  meet  me  at  Galavaude 
Bridge  and  I  am  waiting  for  it 

The  gendarmes  guarding  the  approaches  to  the 
bridge  notice  that  I  am  fatigued.  They  approach  me, 
asking  if  I  would  not  like  to  sit  down, 

*  In  fine  condition. — ^Tr. 


178  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

"Did  not  someone  ask  you  if  Captain  Capart  had 
returned?" 

"No,  captain.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  in  our 
home  where  it  will  be  more  agreeable  than  in  the  road?" 

I  entered  the  home  of  the  gendarmes.  On  the  table, 
which  had  been  set,  several  covers  had  been  laid  with 
infinite  care,  A  pot  of  steaming  soup  simmered  over 
a  smouldering  fire 


"Oh ! — soup !"  I  cried,  sniffing  the  air 

"If  we  dared,  captain,  we  would  be  happy,  very 
happy,  if  you  would  ask  for  a  plate — or  better — two 
plates " 

On  saying  these  words,  he  lifted  the  lid  of  the  kettle 
on  the  fire;  then  with  a  ladle  filled  the  soup  plate  full 
to  the  brim 

The  soup  was  excellent ! 

Since  that  day,  I  always  regard  les  cognes*  with 
sympathy 


LETTERS   WRITTEN    BEFORE   GOING  INTO   THE 
ATTACK,   CHALONS-SUR-MARNE, 
ELEVEN  o'clock  AT  NIGHT, 

April  16,  1917. 

To  Captain  Noel  D 

My  dear  friend: 

I  regret  that  I  was  not  able  to  grasp  your  hand  to- 

*  Popular  appelation  for  gendarmes. — Tr. 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF   1917       179 

night —   I    leave   in    a    moment    to   join    the   Morocco 

Division * 

If  you  receive  this  letter,  you  will  know  I  have  fallen 
in  the  attack  on  Mont-sans-nom.  Do  not  pity  me. 
When  I  was  a  child,  I  experienced  then  a  profound 
emotion  in  reading  the  lines  of  the  Cid 

"  To  die  for  country  is  not  a  sad  fate. 
In  death  there  is  glorious  immortality!" 

This  is  not  the  time  to  grow  sentimental,  because 
I  have  only  a  few  minutes  more —  It  is  raining  hard 
outside  and  I  have  buildcd  a  roaring  wood  fire  in  my 
room — I  have  burned  not  a  few  of  my  old  papers,  as 
you  advised  me 

If  I  am  unlucky,  you  will  find  a  letter  which  I  wish 

you  would  send  to  Madame  X together  with  some 

bric-a-brac  and  souvenirs  you  will  find  in  my  room 

There  is  also  a  box  on  which  is  written  "Destroy  in 
case  of  my  death" :  burn   it ! 

I  wish  to  thank  you,  my  dear  friend,  for  all  you 
have  done  for  me  since  I  have  known  you — You  have 
been  to  me  a  devoted  brother  and  I  have  for  you  a  deep 
affection 

My  best  regards  to  all  my  comrades — I  will  do  my 
duty 

Vive  la  France! 


*  Elite  Division  consisting   of    Zouaves,    Tirailleurs    and    Foreign 
Legion. — Tr. 


180  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 


To  Madame  X- 


Dear  little  woman: 

I  send  you  and  my  three  little  ones  my  last  and 
tenderest  kisses 

The  weather  is  atrocious —  The  attack  will  begin  at 
four  forty-five  this  morning —  I  rejoin  the  Morocco 
Divison  immediately 

Tell  my  boys  that  I  want  them  to  be  soldiers  like 
myself 

Do  not  weep  at  my  death,  which  is  coming,  it  is  the 
most  beautiful  end  a  soldier  may  hope  for 

I  thank  you  for  having  made  me  happy  on  earth: 
you  were  my  first  love 

I  kiss  your  lips  for  the  last  time —  When  you  see 
mother,  tell  her  my  last  thoughts  were  of  her 


MOMENTS   OF   WEAKNESS. 

April  17,  1917. 

What  bad  luck! 

Every  time  an  attack  is  planned  it  must  rain.  One 
must  paddle  along  in  the  mud — and  then  the  water  runs 
down  your  neck 

As  we  will  start  before  daybreak  over  the  top,  one, 
naturally,  will  stumble — we  collect  all  kinds  of  sticks  so 

that  we  may  scrape  the  mud  from  our  sleeves 

*     *     * 

I  find  myself  leaping  over  the  first  German  lines — 
then,  the  wide  open  space  before  reaching  the  second 
position. 


BATTLE  OF  CHAIVIPAGNE  OF  1917       181 

Our  artillery  has  done  good  work,  the  wire  entangle- 
ments are  fortunately  destroyed. 

We  leap  over  more  trenches  and  hoyaux —  From  time 
to  time  our  glance  is  arrested  by  German  corpses 
around    which    occasionally    some    of    our    own    have 

fallen 

Bullets  sing  in  every  direction — machine-gun  nests 
we  have  passed  sputter  at  us  from  beliind. 

We  go  ahead  without  hesitation,  but  without  speak- 
ing— one  never  speaks  during  these  moments ! 

The  field  inclines  and  it  is  necessary  to  stop  and 
pant  a  few  instants — a  circular  view — prisoners  hastily 
descend    the    hill,    their    arms    raised,    staggering   like 

drunken   men 

It  is  a  nasty  place  to  tarry  any  length  of  time — 
two  boche  machine-guns  sixty  yards  to  our  right  spit 
at  us.  Our  advance  can  be  effected,  luckily,  thanks 
to  the  deep  craters  our  guns  have  made  the  preceding 

days.    Day  has  fully  broken — a  fine  rain  is  falling 

The  position  is  as  unmanageable  as  a  runaway  horse. 
We  gain  the  second  objective.    The  trench  is  wider  than 

the  former  one  and  I  cannot  jump  over  it 

It  is  necessary  to  descend  into  the  trench.  I  am 
followed  by  a  few  companions —  A  young  German  hlesse 
is  stretched  out  in  the  bottom.  He  is. extremely  young. 
He  has  curly  hair  and  so  blond  that  he  looks  like  a 

little  child 

He  has  been  thrown  in  a  jumble  and  the  partially 
demolished  trench  on  top — his  head  is  twisted  and  his 
body  and  legs  are  sticking  up  in  the  air 


182  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

He  makes  an  effort  to  rise.  Striding  over  him,  I  see 
bloody  froth  on  his  lips — I  heard  him  murmur: 

"Wasser,  wasser " 

With  his  arms  and  shoulders  he  makes  another  effort 
to  get  up 

One  after  the  other  we  pass  over  the  wounded  boy, 
careful  not  to  step  on  him 


The  attack  progresses,  but  I  have  the  vision  of  this 
child  continually  before  my  eyes.  I  replace  my  revolver 
in  the  holster,  and  with  blows  of  my  cane  I  stop  a 
crowd  of  prisoners  we  have  just  taken,  who  attempt 
to  flee,  throwing  down  their  rifles  as  they  go 

We  have  attained  our  last  objective.  Without  losing 
an  instant,  we  begin  to  organize  it  and  get  ourselves 
settled.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  officers  and 
poilus  commence  to  feel  the  reaction  of  what  we  have 
just  passed  through. 

Everyone  talks  at  once.  We  comment  on  the  missing 
ones.  There  are  several  versions  on  the  death  of  the 
friends  we  have  seen  fall 

For  example,  several  had  seen  the  little  boche.  Many 
remarked  about  his  youth  and  liis  childish  face — he  yet 
breathed 

*     *     * 

Some  hours  later,  I  could  not  resist —  I  made  my 
way  back  two  miles  to  see  if  he  still  lived 

I  found  without  difficulty  the  path  which  will  forever 
remain  solemn  in  my  memory.     From  a  distance  I  saw 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF   1917       183 

the  trench  and  the  indentation  at  the  foot  of  which  I 
was  sure  of  finding  him 


He  is  dead!  He  has  not  changed  his  position,  but 
his  face  is  waxen.  His  two  arms  are  extended  with 
fists  clenched  toward  the  heaven  he  has  without  doubt 
cursed ! 


After  having  contemplated  the  dead  boy,  I  retrace 
my  route,  with  lowered  head,  to  find  my  companions 

I  had  not  gone  fifty  steps  before  I  met,  face  to  face, 
one  of  my  comrades  of  the  attack  that  morning 

"What  are  you  doing  here — you,  too?" 

"I  come  to  help  him  out " 

"He  is  dead " 

"Let's  go  back."  ' 


It  is  night.  Wliat  quiet  after  that  terrible  day  of 
battle.     Glorious  day ! 

We  are  quartered  in  the  German  shelters — use  what- 
ever we  can  find  to  build  a  fire 

It  continues  to  rain  outside.  We  have  formed  a  cir- 
cle and  discuss  the  events  which  have  just  passed  end- 
lessly. 

In  a  corner  of  the  shelter  several  men,  lying  full 
length  on  the  floor,  speak  in  a  low  voice.  They  arc 
the  colonel's  messengers.  I  hear  one  who  says  to  the 
other : 


184  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

"I  went  back  to  see  him — he  was  dead.  I  will  re- 
proach myself  the  rest  of  my  life  for  not  having  helped 
him  up  this  morning  when  we  jumped  over  him." 

THE   HEROIC    POILUS,   CHAMPAGNE. 

AprU  17,  1917. 

Nothing  withstood  the  attack  of  the  8th  Zouaves; 
we  reached  our  objective  at  the  given  time.  We  are 
elated  over  our  success.* 

The  noise  of  the  battle  is  dying  out.  The  enemy  sur- 
renders to  us  in  little  groups.  I  find  m3'self,  cane  in 
hand,  standing  before  a  dugout,  from  which  crawl  a 
dozen  or  so  Saxons  with  their  captain 

Pointing  at  our  poilus,  covered  with  mud  and  magni- 
ficent, he  said  to  me: 

"What  are  these  men — lions?" 

"No,  they  are  poilus  of  France!" 

THE  CHIVALROUS  POILUS,  CHAMPAGNE. 

Apra,  1917. 

We  are  at  the  retaken  positions  on  Mont-sans-nom. 
Colonel  Lagarde  occupies  a  sumptuous  shelter  in  wliich 
he  has  extended  the  hospitality  of  inviting  me  to  dinner. 
A  bouquet  of  flowers,  sent  directly  to  me  from  Chalons, 
has  been  placed  on  the  table  in  a  shell-made  vase. 

The  Zouaves,  who  saunter  in  and  out  of  the  colonel's 
P.C.,  are  visibly  astonished 

*  This  regiment  took  over  800  prisoners  in  the  attack,  also  many  large 
guns. — ^Tr. 


w. 


4- 


^'. 


a 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF  1917       185 

They  are  convinced  that  it  is  General  P^tain  himself 
who  has  sent  the  flowers  to  their  colonel,  in  recognition 
of  their  success  the  day  before 

One  after  the  other  the  roses  disappear,  the  last  ones 
vanishing  petal  by  petal 

The  same  day  and  the  next,  the  8th  Zouaves  re- 
pelled the  enemy  counter-attack  with  rose  petals  in  their 
button-holes ! 

THE  JESTING  POILUS,  CHAMPAGNE. 

May,  1917. 

General  J.  B.  Dumas  is  passing  his  troops  in  review 
to-day.  Our  stalwart  poilus  have  fought  admirabl}^, 
and,  before  leaving  for  the  rear,  au  repos,  must  be 
honored 

General  Dumas,  who  is  popular  with  his  men,  stops 
in  front  of  a  good-looking  boy,  sturdy,  vigorous  and 
superbly  healthy ! 

"You  remember  me?" 

The  poilu  stares  astonished  and  does  not  reply. 

"Voyons,  you  know,  all  the  same,  who  I  am? " 

*^ Allans,  speak " 

The  poilu  said  to  himself,  "If  I  don't  tell  him  that 
I  remember  him,  he'll  murder  me " 

"Yes,  I  remember  you,  general,  I  remember  you  per- 
fectly  " 

"You  are  the  former  station  Uiaster  at  Becon-les- 
Bruyeres !" 


186  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

A  FETICH  !      MONTE   CARLO. 

February,  1917, 
"I  have  a   favor   to   ask   of  you,   captain,  pardon 

5J 


me 


"Which,  mademoiselle,  I  will  be  very  pleased  to  grant 
you " 

"Here  is  a  little  kerchief — I  give  it  to  you  and  ask 
that  you  wear  it  around  your  wrist,  the  next  time  you 
go  into  battle." 

"I  promise  it." 

"It  will  bring  you  good  luck  and  I  am  certain  you 
will  do  great  things  that  day!" 

CHAMPAGNE. 

April,  1917. 

"Your  little  kerchief  has  been  an  excellent  fetich, 
mademoiselle.  I  wore  it  on  my  wrist  in  the  attack  of 
April  17.  It  is  a  priceless  star  of  gold,  on  m}'  croix 
de  guerre,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  pleased!  I  offer  it 
to  you — because,  it  is  my  shining  star!" 

THE  RETURN  OF  JEAN  PAUL  COCHIN. 
GRAND    BLESSE,    PARIS. 

May,  1917. 

It  was  at  the  beginning  of  July,  1915,  when  the  army 
of  the  Crown  Prince  unloosed  its  big  thrust  in  the 
Argonne. 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF  1917      187 

The  battle  was  raging  to  the  north  of  St.  Menehoulde 
and  this  sector  became  suddenly  the  most  active  on  the 
whole  front. 

Jean  Paul  Cochin,  soldier  of  the  second  class  in  the 

Regiment  of  Infantry  was  sorely  wounded  July 

7,  toward  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  near  Vienne-le- 
Chateau.  A  shell  burst  near  the  parapet  of  the  trench 
in  which  he  was  stationed,  shattering  his  two  arms. 

He  was  thrown  violently  to  the  ground  and  lost 
consciousness 

Toward  dusk  he  half-opened  his  eyes,  but  could  not 
move;  he  suffered  very  much — his  lips  dry  and  he  had 
a  tremendous  thirst. 

Then  he  felt  himself  being  moved — he  recalled 
vaguely  having  heard  the  murmur  of  a  voice — some 
jolting,  sharp  pains  which  hurt. 

A  stop !  He  heard  guttural  voices,  a  bright  light 
passed  several  times  before  his  eyes  which  he  could  not 
open 

Another  shifting — a  rapid  journey  and  many  bumps 
and  joltings 

It      *      * 

When  he  again  regained  consciousness  he  found  him- 
self in  a  bed  and  looked  to  the  right  and  to  the  left 
to  find  out  where  he  was.  He  was  in  a  large  room 
and  perceived  numerous  other  beds  like  his  own. 

He  could  twist  his  head,  but  his  body  was  fixed,  im- 
mobile, and  his  two  arms  hurt  him  terribly. 

He  saw  approaching  the  bed  a  man  very  big  and 


188  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

strong,  with  gray  hair,  gowned  in  white,  accompanied 
by  two  assistants  and  a  nurse. 

The  doctor  gave  several  orders  in  German.  Little 
did  it  matter  to  Jean  being  a  prisoner,  but  his  suffering 
was  horrible.  The  doctor  began  unwinding  the  ban- 
dages to  examine  the  wounds.  Soon  he  was  not  con- 
scious of  what  was  going  on.  They  placed  a  white 
napkin  over  his  face  and  he  inhaled  the  strong  odor 
of  ether.  For  some  moments  it  seemed  to  him  cannon 
were  booming  in  the  distance  and  a  loud  whistling  in 

his  ears,  then  nothing  more 

Some  hours  later  he  came  to  himself  for  the  second 
time  and  found  that  his  bed  was  bound  and  wrapped 
like  a  mummy.  He  was  so  feeble — so  feeble.  How  long 
his  sleep  had  been  he  did  not  know. 

A  nurse  on  seeing  him  open  his  eyes  brought  him 
tea  and  he  murmured  "thanks" ;  then  she  cautioned  him 
in  very  bad  French  to  lie  quiet  and  not  to  move. 

The  horrible  nightmare  and  the  fever  lasted  through 
the  night  and  because  he  steeled  himself  he  would  not 

cry 

In  the  morning  the  doctor  came  back  with  the  nurses 
and  demanded  in  French  that  he  answer  some  questions : 
he  must  give  his  name  and  the  unit  to  which  he  be- 
longed. Then  all  got  black  again  before  his  eyes  and 
the  poor  devil  fainted 

Thanks  to  his  strong  constitution,  he  took  a  turn 
for  the  better,  not,  however,  without  passing  several 
bad  days,  and  the  fever  left  him. 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF  1917      189 

How  long  was  all  tlii.s  going  to  last?  He  did  not 
know 

So  he  began  to  feel  better  and  stronger  and  rejoiced 
when  the  doctor,  in  the  course  of  his  visits,  said  to  him : 

"You're  going  to  pull  through,  and  I'ni  glad  of 
it " 

He  was  still  extremely  feeble,  had  to  be  nourished 
with  a  spoon,  but  he  did  not  forget  that  he  was  very 
well  taken  care  of  in  this  hospital. 

Turning  his  head,  he  perceived  with  surprise  that  his 
neighbor  in  the  next  bed  was  his  comrade  in  the  trenches, 
Paul  Dubois 

"Is  that  you,  Patachon?" 

"Yes,  my  pauv'  iHeux." 

"Why,  you  here,  too — what's  the  matter? " 

"A  foot  gone — leg  lots  shorter — but  I  complain  no 
longer,  Cobusse;  you  don't  suffer  much  any  more — I 
thought  I  heard  the  death  rattle  those  first  days " 

"No,  I  suffer  no  more " 

"You  know  how  we  got  here?" 

They  began  reconstructing  the  scene  completely,  the 
bombardment;  and  they  recalled  the  premonitory 
whistling  of  the  shell  that  had  wounded  them  both. 

They  chatted  for  a  long  time  and  there  was  a  con- 
solation for  having  been  taken  prisoner  in  finding  them- 
selves together. 

Some  weeks  later  Cochin  and  his  comrade,  being  im- 
proved in  health  and  strength,  were  evacuated  to  a 
hospital  in  the  interior.  They  made  a  long  journey  on 
the  railroad  and  perceived  more  and  more  how  unfor- 
tunate it  was  to  lose  one  or  more  limbs. 


190  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

On  arriving  there,  Cochin  had  so  lost  the  notions 
of  equilibrium  that  he  fell  several  times  to  the  ground 
to  the  great  despair  of  Dubois,  who  thereafter  never 
slackened  his  hold  on  him. 

Cobusee  and  Patachon  came  rapidly  to  be  very  close 
friends;  these  two  wrecks  of  the  war  could  not  be 
separated  and  found  in  each  other  a  reciprocal  sus- 
tenance. 

Patachon  washed,  dressed  and  fed  Cobusse  and  rolled 
his  cigarettes.  He  tried  to  explain  to  his  friend  that 
one  can  go  through  life  without  arms  and  used  such 
unusual  arguments  that  it  caused  his  comrade  to  smile 
at  times. 

And  the  latter  said  amusingly : 

"In  the  meantime,  I  have  an  itching — scratch  then, 
my  head — not  there ! — yes,  there,  how  good  that  feels, 
Patachon " 

Their  morale  remained  excellent  and  they  were  con- 
fident of  victory. 

During  their  captivity,  one  rainy  day,  they  were  sit- 
ting side  by  side  on  a  bunk  and  began  to  talk  of  their 
families. 

Cochin  told  how  his  wife  was  waiting  for  him  in 
Panam*  with  their  little  Helene,  who  was  almost 
five.  He  could  not  stop  talking  of  the  little  gamine 
who  was  "his  own  picture." 

"You  cannot  realize,  Patachon,  how  lively  and  in- 
telligent she  is.  All!  what  wouldn't  I  give  to  clasp  her 
in  my  arras." 

*  Panam — Paris. — Tr. 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF  1917       191 

To  change  the  conversation  Patachon  said  to  him: 

"Some    time    you'll    be    eager    to    scratch    yourself, 

Cobusse —  Don't  stand  on  ceremony,  you  know  I'm  here 

for  that,  my  old  friend— we  must  aid  each  other  in 

life." 

The  long  hours  of  captivity  passed  sordidly  enough, 
broken  by  the  arrival  of  letters  from  France  and  pack- 
ages of  food. 

When  they  talked  with  the  Germans  they  were  com- 
pletely reassured  on  the  outcome  of  the  war:  both  of 
them  were  very  skeptical  when  they  heard  the  bells  rmg- 
ing  and  when  they  read  the  bulletins  announcing  an- 
other German  victory.  Wlien  their  guardians  looked 
gloomy  Patachon  never  failed  to  smile  at  Cobusee. 

"Our  overseer  wears  a  long  face  these  great  days, 
he  must  again  have  swallowed  another  pill!" 

The  two,  and  their  comrades,  shattered  wrecks  like 
themselves,  always  passed  the  sombre  days  in  the  little 
German  village  where  they  were  taken.  They  had  to 
suffer  numerous  privations.  They  missed  the  hospital 
at  the  front  and  the  German  doctor  who  was  "rather 
a  good  sort." 

They  had  to  take  insults  from  these  heartless  people 
and  many  times  they  were  able  to  read  a  secret  joy  in 
their  eyes  on  seeing  them  crippled. 

"Ough!  the  dirty  beasts,  Cobusse,  did  you  see  how 
that  woman  there  sneered  at  us " 


Many  months  went  by  and  Cochin  and  Dubois  never 
left  each  other.     They  spoke  less  of  the  war,  but  re- 


192  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

tained  the  hope  of  returning  to  France  and  of  this  they 
often  talked. 

"Listen,  Patachon,  here  we  are,  you  and  I,  grands 
blesses,  and  we  should  have  been  in  Paris  long  ago — 
what  are  they  trying  to  do — keeping  us  all  this  time?" 

"Yes,  Cobusse,  it  commences  to  be  very  long " 

One  day,  however,  it  was  announced  their  turn  had 
come  and  they  could  leave.  At  the  thought  of  seeing 
France  again  they  were  thrilled.  They  had  done  their 
duty  and  could  return  home  proud 

Quickly  they  were  ready  and  began  the  long  journey 
across  Germany.  Their  train  was  full  of  grands  blesses, 
miserable  beings  which  the  grave  did  not  want  and 
which  it  was  glad  to  be  free  of.     As  Patachon  said, 

"They   all   look   like   a   lot   of   wire   and   rubber " 

They  were  blind,  sick,  maimed  and  mad ! 

There  was  enough  misery  in  that  train,  but  all  were 
haughty  and  dignified! 

"What  a  sad  air,"  said  Cochin,  "this  boche  country 
has " 

Rolling  along  thus  during  one  entire  day,  the  night 
was  broken  by  very  long  stops  that  seemed  endless. 
And  these  long  hours  of  waiting  made  them  very  tired 
and  low  spirited;  as  soon  as  they  started  again  every- 
one began  to  laugh  and  talk. 

As  they  drew  near  to  the  Swiss  frontier  scarcely 
could  they  conceal  the  joy  they  felt  on  leaving  this 
country  that  was  killing  them. 

At  dawn  the  train  arrived  at  a  station  all  lit  up, 
where,  in  spite  of  the  early  hour,  there  was  great 
throngs.     It  is  Schaffhouse! 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF   1917        193 

Along  the  platform  Swiss  officers  and  soldiers  went 
to  and  fro,  excited  as  if  they  saw  Frenchmen  for  the 
first  time 

"We  are  in  Switzerland,  Patachon " 

"Are  you  sure?" 

They  looked  out  the  car  window  and  scarcely  had 
time  to  see,  on  the  other  track,  a  trainload  of  wounded 
Germans  going  the  other  way. 

"You  see,  they  are  maimed  like  us " 

The  soldiers  in  the  two  trains  regarded  each  other 
closely  without  a  word. 

Hardly  had  the  train  of  the  German  grands  blesses 
started  to  leave  the  station  than  a  military  band  began 
to  play  the  "Marseillaise" ! 

Yes,  the  "Marseillaise" — They  raised  their  heads  and 
there  wasn't  a  one  who  did  not  hold  himself  in  an  effort 
not  to  cry 

Then  the  station  became  crowded  with  persons  who 
wished  to  see  the  grands  blesses.  They  distribute 
flowers,  cigarettes,  little  tri-colorcd  flags,  small  cakes, 
chocolate,  colored  postal  cards —  The  station  gets 
more  and  more  crowded  and  the  excitement  grows. 

"Ah !  we  are  not  in  that  boche  country  any  more, 
Patachon — I  begin  to  breathe  easier  already " 

But  they're  all  more  or  less  amazed  at  this  great 
bustle  to  which  they  are  ill-accustomed,  and  for  the 
first  time  they  see  human  beings  who  have  sincere  pity 
for  their  misery. 


At  Zuricli,  at  Olten  and  at  Berne,  they  see  the  same 


194,  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

things  and  more  so  as  they  approach  France.  Here, 
the  manifestations  are  clamorous  and  very  lively. 
Above  all,  the  people  speak  French  and  shout:  "Bravo 
les  braves  I" 

However,  they  are  not  yet  completely  happy:  they 
are  not  home !  But  they  stretch  and  become  more  at- 
tentive to  the  surrounding  country.  Through  the  win- 
dow they  admire  the  Bernoise  Alps  blanketed  with 
snow. 

At  Fribourg,  a  woman  holds  out  a  bouquet  of  flowers 
to  Cochin,  wliile  her  daughter  presents  him  at  the  same 
time  with  a  cup  of  steaming  bouillon.  They  cannot 
understand  why  the  crowd  shouts  so  much.  They  cry 
also:     "Vive  la  France!" 

"Take  it,"  say  both  the  mother  and  daughter. 

Patachon  leans  out  the  window. 

"He  cannot  take  them,"  he  says,  "because  his  arms 
are  gone " 

The  two  step  back  as  if  to  shrink  away  from  this 
immense  misfortune,  but  Patachon  calls  to  them: 

"Pass  me  the  flowers  and  the  cup — it  is  I  who  am 
his  mother  at  present.  Thank  you,  madame ;  thank 
you,  ma  petite —  Allans,  drink  that,  old  brother.  Is 
it  too  hot?" 

The  mother  and  child  begin  to  cry,  "Oh,  the  poor, 
the  poor  blesse." 

Cochin  stiffens  as  if  proud  of  his  wound 


They  passed  by  Lausanne,  and  Geneva,  and  at  the 
latter  place  said  adieux  to  Switzerland.     It  was  night 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF   1917       195 

when  they  crossed  the  border  and  a  half  hour  later 
entered  the  station  at  Bellegrade — France ! 

At  last  they  were  home.  The  people  were  different. 
Nurses  went  up  and  down  the  platform  with  a  cheery 
word  for  everyone.  In  short,  each  one  wanted  to  tell 
his  story,  but  a  smile  from  these  women  almost  made 
them  forget  it. 

The  following  day  they  got  out  at  the  Lyon  station 
where  a  beautiful  ceremony  had  been  planned  to  receive 
them.  The  mayor  addressed  them  in  front  of  the  sta- 
tion and  at  his  side  were  the  general  commanding  the 
district  and  the  city  officials.  Little  girls,  quaintly 
dressed  in  their  first  communicant  costumes,  distributed 
flowers,  and  Patachon  fixed  a  pretty  rosebud  in  his 
comrade's  tunic. 

The  mayor  compared  them  to  old  flags  riddled  with 
bullets,  at  which  one  gazed  with  pride  and  emotion. 
Everyone  was  grave,  because  they  were  conscious  it  was 
true. 

The  music  kept  on  playing — the  throng  went  wild — 
was  this  not  a  beautiful  dream  after  that  horrible  night- 
mare.'' The  blind  themselves  smiled,  as  if  they  saw — 
They  breathed  the  air  of  France ! 


They  went  back  into  the  train,  this  time  to  complete 
the  last  step  of  their  journey:  to-morrow  they  will  be 
in  Paris. 

They  are  tired  and  they  find  the  time  passes  slowly, 
so  great  is  their  impatience. 


196  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

Cochin  telegraphs  his  wife  to  be  at  the  station  with 

the  little  one 

They  cannot  sleep  and  they  speak  of  their  captivity. 
They  are  content  within  themselves  as  long  as  they  do 
not  give  way  to  discouragement.  They  fully  apprehend 
now  the  return — what  will  become  of  them  ? 

They  await  the  coming  of  day  with  disquietude. 
Night  seems  without  an  end.  At  last,  the  sun  routs 
the    darkness    and    they    recognize    the    outskirts    of 

Paris 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  their  train  enters 

the  station 

"The  war  is  finished  for  us,  Cobusse,  and  we  are  lucky 

to  get  back " 

Cochin  does  not  reply.  He  looks  out  the  window  and 
sees  the  station  crowded  with  people — they  are  all  talk- 
ing at  once 

"Patachon,  I  see  my  wife  and  Helene —  Wave 
at  them!" 

"Where  are  they.'"' 

They  have  seen  him  and  begin  waving  their  hands, 
at  the  same  time  making  signs  for  him  to  come  down  on 
the  platform.     Patachon  shouts  out  the  window: 
"We're  coming !" 

Cochin,  very  pale,  leaves  the  coach,  assisted  by  two 
nurses.  He  is  some  steps  in  front  of  his  wife,  who 
is  holding  Helene.  He  walks  ahead  rapidly  as  if 
to  take  her  in  his  arms,  and  then  understands.  He 
stops— and  falls  back,  sobbing  on  the  shoulder  of  his 
friend 


BATTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE  OF  1917       197 

"Come — come,  my  pauv'  vieux,  don't  cry — what's 
this — you  who  never  cry !" 

"Patachon — I  can — I  can  never  clasp  her  in  my 
arms " 

PARIS. 

May  27,  1917. 

"What  a  sad  air  you  have — an  infinite  sadness " 

"I  behevc  no  longer  in  GOD,  nor  the  love  of  a  woman, 

nor  in  the  friendship  of  a  friend " 

"You  believe  then,  no  longer  in  anything? *' 

"Yes,  in  glory — posthumous " 

AT   SEA,  ABOARD   THE   CHICAGO. 

June  5,  1917. 

I  leave  for  the  United  States! 

The  vigorous  part  of  my  life  is  terminated.  I  am  on 
the  high  seas  and  my  eyes  do  not  tire  as  I  contemplate 
this  magnificent  sight.  Physical  and  moral  suffering 
are  forgotten 

I  awaken  each  day  a  little  farther  away,  and  I  forget 
that  nightmare. 

Is  it  possible  I  am  here — I —  What  repose ! 

NEW    YORK. 

June  15,  1917. 

To-night  I  have  seen  land  again  and  felt  a  shudder, 
the  first  after  a  very  long  time. 


198  A  BLUE  DEVIL  OF  FRANCE 

On  seeing  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  my  eyes  are  full 
of  tears,  and  I  cry : 

"Wonderful  United  States,  quick — into  the  struggle ! 
Now  it's  you —  Strike,  strike — strike  hard!" 


FINIS 


2SSG8 


^C(L^tv 


